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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




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Little Bessie. 



Rev. George H. Smyth. 



1 Her home is far, oh ! far away ! 

The clear light in her eyes 
Hath naught to do with earthly day — ■ 
'Tis kindled from the skies. 
Let her depart ! " 




New York: 
ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS, 

530 Broadway. 

1881. 



7T 



Copyright, 1881, 
By Robert Carter & Brothers. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAP. PAGE 

I. BIRTH AND EARLY LIFE ... 5 

II. SEPHA BROUGHT HOME . . . 1 8 

III. LEARNING TO READ . , . . 27 

rv. bessie's bible . . . . 32 

V. CORRECTION 42 

VI. HOME LIFE . . . . . 56 

VII. INDUSTRY . . . . . .69 

VIII. DISPOSITION 89 

IX. SICKNESS AND DEATH. . . . Il6 

APPENDIX I54 



4 



THE LIBRARY 

>F CONGRESS 

WASHINGTON 



I. 

BIRTH AND EARLY LIFE. 

"A blessing on thy head, thou child of many hopes 
and fears ! 

A rainbow-welcome thine hath been, of mingled 
smiles and tears. 

Thy father greets thee unto life with a fall and 
chasten' d heart; 

For a solemn gift from God thou comest, all pre- 
cious as thou art." — Hemans. 

T)ESSIE was born at Wilmington, Del- 
aware, on the 22d of June, 1869, 
where I had just taken up my residence 
as pastor of the West Presbyterian Church 
of that city. Three months before, her 
little brother Sandie, our first child, aged 
fifteen months, had died at our home in 
Washington City. On the last day of 



LITTLE BESSIE. 



August, 1871, her sister Sepha came to 
us, and the next day her mother passed 
from earth to heaven; and now mother 
and children are united above, their bod- 
ies resting side by side in Oak Hill Cem- 
etery, Georgetown, D. C. ; one of the most 
quiet, beautiful "homes of the dead" I 
have ever seen, and of which Willis's 
lines — though not written for it — form 
such an accurate description that we of- 
ten quoted them at dear little Sandie's 
grave. 

"Yet I have chosen for thy grave, my child, 
A bank where I have lain in summer hours, 
And thought how little it would seem like death 
To sleep amid such loveliness. The brook, 
Tripping with laughter down the rocky steps 
That lead up to thy bed, would still trip on, 
Breaking the dread hush of the mourners gone; 
The birds are never silent that build here, 



BIRTH AND EARLY LIFE. 



Trying to sing down the more vocal waters; 
The slope is beautiful with moss and flowers, 
And far below, seen under arching leaves, 
Glitters the warm sun on the village spire, 
Pointing the living after thee." 

Sepha, when three days old, was taken 
with her mother s remains to Washington 
where she was cared for by her grand- 
mother until she was three years of age. 
Her aunt took care of Bessie and my 
home at Wilmington, until it was broken 
np a year after, when Bessie went to 
Washington, where she remained through 
the fall and winter of 1872-3, while papa 
took a few months, in New York, of much 
needed rest. During this period I visited 
her every few weeks. On one occasion 
she was very anxious to return to her 
own home and see papa's study where 



8 LITTLE BESSIE. 



she used to amuse herself by the hour 
turning over the leaves of a book, and 
looking at the pictures. 

I said, "Bessie, dear, our home is all 
broken up at Wilmington, and papa has 
no study there any longer, but by and 
by he will get a nice home for you in 
New York, and then he will come for 
his little girl and take her to it." 

She was content with this promise and 
reminded me of it when I bade her 
good-by. 

Accordingly my next visit was to bring 
her to her home now ready for her in 
New York. After spending a few days 
in Washington, I was going for a short 
visit to some friends in Baltimore. As 
I kissed her good-by she began to cry. 
I said, "Bessie, what is the matter?" 



BIRTH AND EARLY LIFE. 



She hesitated for a moment, when I said, 
"Papa's little girl always tells him her 
troubles and he helps her out of them. 
Now, Bessie, tell me what is it?" 

"Well, papa," she said, "you told me, 
last time you were here, that when you 
came again you would take your lit- 
tle Bessie with you to your own home, 
and now you are going away without 
her." 

I explained to her that I was not going 
home, but only to make a visit of a few 
days in Baltimore when I would come 
back for her and take her with me as 
I had promised. 

She smiled so sweetly, and said, "Oh 
you good papa ! I will not cry any more, 
but just wait till you come for me." 

"And then, Bessie, will you be will- 



IO LITTLE BESSIE. 



ing to leave all your friends here and go 
alone with papa?" 

She replied, "Yes, I will"; and she 
did, and lived in my home alone with 
me, save the governess that took care of 
her, the happiest, sweetest child in all 
the neighborhood. She was much with 
me in my study, and rambles about the 
place. Each evening she spent the hour 
after supper with me, listening to her 
bedtime stories and going to sleep in a 
room by herself, till papa's bedtime, with- 
out a single murmur. On Sabbath she 
went to the service every morning as 
she had been accustomed from the time 
she was two years old, and I can not 
now remember that it was ever neces- 
sary to rebuke her for misbehaving. She 
early took an interest in the service, and 



BIRTH AND EARLY LIFE. II 



from the time she was four years old 

could always tell the subject of the ser- 

i 
mon and often the text. It was about] 

this time I once preached a sermon on 

" Conversation." I asked her going home 

from the chapel if she knew what papa 

preached about. She replied, "Yes; you 

preached 'bout 'How to talk."' Some 

time after she asked me to preach a ser 

mon on, u How to think," which I did, 

taking for my text Prov. xxiii. 7 — "As 

he thinketh in his heart, so is he." I 

told my youthful congregation that the 

sermon I was about to preach them was 

one requested by my little girl. They all 

listened with rapt attention, laughed and 

cried by turns, and many of them spoke 

of Bessie's sermon long after. As Bessie 

remarked, "the boys listened intently to 



12 LITTLE BESSIE. 



that sermon, papa." Wondering whether 
she knew the meaning of the very ex- 
pressive adverb she used, I said, " Bessie, 
what is the meaning of the word intently? 
What is it to listen intently? " Without a 
moment's delay she replied, "To listen in- 
tently means to listen very much." 

" Calling her my little daughter of con- 
solation one day, she asked, "Papa, what 
does consolation mean ? " 

" Well, it means," I said, " to make one 
happy when they are sad." 

"But, papa," she promptly replied, "your 
little daughter will never let you be sad. 
She will make you happy all the time." 

No one can know how much this little 
child's companionship was to me at this 
particular period. Papa's Little Sunbeam, 
as she loved to be called, has brightened 



BIRTH AND EARLY LIFE. 13 



many an hour that would have been op- 
pressive but for her sweet, winsome ways. 
She has recalled him to himself more than 
once by climbing on his knee and going to 
work right earnestly with — "Papa, I'm go- 
ing to kiss all your sadness away." She 
was a most intuitive child, could read 
papa's feelings in his face with unmistak- 
able accuracy and never failed, even while 
burning up with the terrible fever, to 
beguile him of his trouble. 

Without appearing thoughtful, her lit- 
tle keen eye saw and questioned every 
thing around her. She often sat at my 
study window watching the steam, sail, 
and row boats pass. One day she saw 
an empty barrel floating past and she 
asked, " Why does a person sink and not 
float in the water like a barrel?" I ex- 



14 LITTLE BESSIE. 



plained to her as well as I could the law 
of specific gravity, telling her that a man 
sank in the water because he was heavier 
than his bulk of water. Some time after 
she said one day as she watched a large 
river steamer pass, "Papa, you told me 
a man sank in the water because he was 
heavier than the water, but a steamboat 
is heavier than a man. How is it that 
it does not sink, but floats and carries a 
great lot of passengers beside ? " 

It was one of the child's witty obser- 
vations that suggested the following ex- 
tract taken from one of my letters in the 
"Wayside." 

"wooden men. 

"The other afternoon I was riding in 
the Park with my little girl and as the 



BIRTH AND EARLY LIFE. 15 



long procession of gay equipages passed, 
she saw the liveried coachmen and foot- 
men sitting Tip stiffly on front of the car- 
riages in buttoned coats, top boots and 
with folded arms and fixed eyes, when 
she inquired, 'Papa, those are wooden 
men, aren't they ? ' 

" ' Well, they look wooden enough, Bes- 
sie,' was the reply. 

" ' Well then, papa, God didn't make 
those men — did He? God makes men 
that have flesh and bones and that can 
move and speak and look at you.' 

" The child's cute observation started 
the following train of thought: — 
' "How many wooden men besides those 
mounted flunkeys you see in the world. 
Men who in social life are dry as chips, 
in religious life perfect sticks, without 



1 6 LITTLE BESSIE. 



leaves, flowers or fruit. Very unlike the 
portrait of the godly man sketched in 
the first psalm, and who is compared to 
4 a tree planted by the rivers of water, 
that bringeth forth his fruit in his sea- 
son; his leaf also shall not wither; and 
whatsoever he doeth shall prosper/ Di- 
rectly opposite to this is the wooden man 
— not bad positively, negatively good, per- 
haps, but wooden nevertheless. 

"There is no inspiration about him. 
The Sabbath-school withers under his su- 
perintendence, and the prayer -meeting 
freezes under his leadership. He imparts 
the chills to the Y. M. C. A. His own 
children never laugh in his presence. 
Every Christian work he undertakes fails, 
nothing he puts his hand to prospers. 
His emotional nature is made of seasoned 



BIRTH AND EARLY LIFE. 17 



hickory. He believes in ministerial dig- 
Inity, in professional propriety, in sol- 
emnity, all of which mean juiceless for- 
i 
mality, churchly stupidity. 

"The Christian armor which sat so 
gracefully on Paul, this wooden man but- 
tons himself up with, making himself so 
unnatural that the child asks papa if 
God made that man! 

"There are no wooden children. They 
act naturally, spontaneously, they are 
truthful, genial, joyous, happy, affection- 
ate. Did not the Master hint that such 
should be the type of adult Christian 
character when He said — 'Except ye be 
converted and become as little children, 
ye shall not enter into the kingdom of 
heaven.' " 



II. 

SEPHA BROUGHT HOME. 

"So come to me, my little one, — 
My years with thee I share, 
And mingle with a sister's love 
A mother's tender care. 

"Our mother from the fields of heaven 
Shall still her ear incline; 
Nor need we fear her human love 
Is less for love divine. ,, — Whittieb. 

A BOUT a year after bringing Bessie 
home, it was decided to bring her 
sister Sepha, now three years old, to live 
with her, that the two might grow up 
together as sisters and be companions 
for each other. Bessie was very glad of 
this, and urged it with many of her sweet 
childlike appeals. u Papa, if you bring 



SEPHA BROUGHT HOME. 19 



Sepha home, I can take care of her. The 
big pitcher is too heavy for me to handle, 
but if you would pour out the water in 
the basin, I could wash and dress her 
and take care of her all the time; and I 
will be a very good child, for you know 
if I should be bad, it would make Sepha 
bad too." How well she fulfilled this vol- 
untary engagement those know who so 
often remarked what a patient and kind 
and tender little mother as well as sister 
she was to Sepha ever after. "Only for 
good, wise little Bessie I never could 
have gotten along with the baby," said 
their governess. 

Bessie seemed to charge herself with 
the care of her little sister, of whom she 
was very proud and for whose good be- 
havior she somehow felt she was respon- 



20 LITTLE BESSIE. 



sible. Bessie having been a year with 
me, before Sepha was brought home, she 
had made warm friends of every one on 
the place, by many of whom she was 
daily caressed and tenderly loved. To 
Baby, only three years old, every one 
was a stranger, even her own papa was 
scarcely more than an occasional acquaint- 
ance, so that it was quite a trial for the 
little creature to go through before she 
could feel at home in her own home to 
which she was now introduced for the 
first time. How darling Bessie would 
take her by the hand, toddle about the 
grounds with her, take her to see the 
golden fish in the fountain, give up her 
dollies and toys to her with such a sweet 
grace, apologize for Sepha when naughty 
with the ever ready, little motherly — " Oh 



SEPHA BROUGHT HOME. 21 



well she's only a baby " — then take her in 
her arms and lovingly caress and please 
her; all these and many more tender lit- 
tle ministries did this child render to her 
baby sister. Moreover Bessie displayed a 
nobleness of spirit that would be con- 
sidered, in an adult, most unselfish and 
generous in similar circumstances. When 
she came to her home on the Island she 
was the only little child in the community. 
The officers of the Institution were all 
very fond of her and exceedingly kind to 
her. She was a child that attracted atten- 
tion wherever she was and in the Eefuge 
she received enough to have spoiled a 
dozen good children. On Sepha's coming 
to the place, this attention was largely 
transferred to her, the little baby stranger, 
and yet no one was more delighted to see 



22 LITTLE BESSIE. 



this than Bessie. She was utterly devoid 
of the slightest feeling of jealousy and 
never failed to make Sepha a sharer in 
any attentions that were shown to her- 
self. Seeing this unselfish devotion to 
her sister, Uncle Sandie, to try her, said 
to her one day, 

" Bessie, I will give you a ride in the 
Park, if you go with me." 

"'Can Sepha go tt>o?" she inquired. 

"Oh, no. I only have room for one!" 

" Well then take Sepha, 'cause you 
know she's the baby." 

When in the city with me any thing 
pretty in the store windows which she 
saw, the universal exclamation was, "Oh 
papa, wouldn't that be nice for Sepha ! " 
The two were very happy together. Bes- 
sie became Sepha's good angel, and the 



SEPHA BROUGHT HOME. 23 



sweet and hallowed influence which she 
exerted over her will be one of the great- 
est blessings of Sepha's life. Bessie was 
her ideal of perfection. " If I were Bes- 
sie, papa, I could be real good, and if 
you speak my name to God in your 
prayers as you did this morning" — at 
family worship — " He will make me grow 
up good just like Bessie." 

Sepha's disposition was very different 
from that of her sister, whom she strug- 
gled earnestly to imitate. I think it was 
after one of these unsuccessful efforts, 
she put this very profound question to 
me, " Papa, how is it that when one tries 
to be good they just grow up naughty ? " 
This was precisely St. Paul's experience 
as recorded by his own pen in the sev- 
enth chapter of his epistle to the Ro- 



24 LITTLE BESSIE. 



mans: u To will is present with me; but 
how to perform that which is good I 
find not. For the good that I would, I 
do not: but the evil which I would not, 
that I do." Alas, this is the experience 
of the human heart in all its aspirations 
after a higher and holier life, fitly com- 
pared by some of the ancient divines to 
a bird tied to the ground by a silken 
cord. So long as the bird was content 
to remain on the ground, it felt no in- 
convenience from the cord; but the mo- 
ment it began to rise, and soar aloft, the 
cord pulled it to the earth and pained 
it; so when the soul seeks its native air 
in the skies, it finds itself fettered by 
earthly ties, that do not disturb it so 
long as it k content to grovel in the 
dust. 



SEPHA BROUGHT HOME. 25 



The nursery was only one room re- 
moved from my study. In it they had 
their desks, furniture and library, and op- 
posite a large closet for their dolls and 
toys, a plentiful supply of both being 
annually furnished by their numerous 
friends. Santa Claus never failed to bring 
a complete set from Washington and al- 
ways managed to get over the river no 
matter what the weather might be. 

In this room the two got their lessons 
alone, coming into papa's study the hour 
in the morning when he read his paper, to 
recite, ask a question, or receive an expla- 
nation. The last year their mamma spent 
thus about two hours with them each 
morning, and this was all the schooling 
they received — except in music and Ger- 
man, for Bessie — although they were far 



26 LITTLE BESSIE. 



in advance of children of their own age 
who had been regularly to school. This 
little room, with its window from floor 
to ceiling overlooking the Harlem Kiver, 
is filled with beautiful mementos of the 
precious child who was its light, life 
and joy. 



IV. 

BESSIE'S BIBLE. 

" Oh never on this holy Book 
With careless, cold indifference look; 
'Tis God's own Word; and they who read 
With prayerful hearts and reverent heed, 
Shall gain from each unfolding page 
A blessing for their heritage." 

T TOW well the above principles were 
borne out in Bessie's after life may- 
be seen from her own Bible, read, reread 
and pencil-marked from the first chapter 
in Genesis to the last chapter in Kev- 
elation. I never once asked her to read 
her Bible, yet she studied it daily and 
showed an apprehension of its sacred 
truths rarely found in one so young. 

Bessie and her younger sister Sepha, 
spent many happy hours reading their 



28 LITTLE BESSIE. 



pretty well, and at five could read the Old 
Testament, pronouncing the long words 
and hard names with great facility. At 
the age of six she one day began read- 
ing a manuscript sermon that lay on my 
desk. I never knew and she could not 
tell how or when she learned to read 
writing. 

An extract from one of my familiar 
letters to "The Wayside" of this date 
(May, 1875), is in point, as follows — 

"My little Bessie read the Scriptures 
at family worship this morning very beau- 
tifully. And yet she was never taught, 
at least in the way children are generally 
taught to read. I was in the habit of 
telling her Bible stories in my own words 
when she was quite small; so when she 
began to read just a little she was so 



LEARNING TO READ, 29 



anxious to peruse these stories herself 
that when she came to them by acci- 
dent, while carelessly tossing through the 
Bible, she read them with great interest, 
for she was able to understand them ; and 
now there is no book she loves to read 
more than the Bible. 

" I draw the following lessons from this 
little incident. 

* 1. To teach children to read well, first 
of all put them in possession of what they 
are going to read. That is, relate it to 
them in language such as they are ac- 
customed to use and can understand. So 
arouse their interest in it that they will 
be as impatient to learn it from the book 
as they are to hear it from your lips. 
Then they will read naturally, enthusi- 
astically and profitably. 



30 LITTLE BESSIE. 



"2. In order to read God's word with 
pleasure and profit we must be prepos- 
sessed of its sacred truths. Many of 
you can remember how cold and me- 
chanical was the self-imposed drudgery 
of reading a chapter daily while as yet 
you knew not its Author as your Sa- 
viour and Friend, and how changed your 
experience when His law was written on 
your heart — a reflection of that which 
was printed on the page. It was the dif- 
ference of a letter from your dearest 
friend, and that of a general letter to 
the public in the newspaper; then it be- 
came sweeter than honey to your taste.' 

"3. Great care should be taken in first 
introducing children to the contents of 
the Bible. It can be done in such a 
way as to take and retain its merited 



LEARNING TO READ. 31 



first place in their esteem and affection. 
To read portions of the Bible which are 
far beyond the comprehension of chil- 
dren and read them in a cold and in- 
different manner, is the surest way to 
create a distaste for God's word which 
will be very difficult to remove when 
the mind has become saturated with the 
trashy reading which so abounds even 
in Sabbath-school libraries." 



III. 

LEARNING TO READ. 

"When the lessons and tasks are all ended, 
And the school for the day is dismissed, 
And the little ones gather around me 

To bid me good-night and be kissed. 
Oh, the little white arms that encircle 

My neck in a tender embrace ! 
Oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven, 
Shedding sunshine of love on my face ! " 

C. Dickenson. 

T> ESSIE was an unusually bright child 
and acquired knowledge without ef 
fort. When only two years old she could 
sing several Sunday-school hymns with 
an accuracy and sweetness that often 
surprised as it delighted our friends who 
came to visit us. At the age of four 
years she could read the New Testament 



BESSIE'S BIBLE. 33 



Bibles together and discussing in their 
sweet childish way various passages that 
have often engaged more mature minds. 
One day Bessie was reading the sixth 
chapter of the Epistle to the Galatians, 
and when she had read at the second 
verse, "Bear ye one another's burdens," 
and then at the fifth verse, "For every 
man shall bear his own burden," she 
quickly detected the apparent discrep- 
ancy and came and asked me to ex- 
plain. "How can we bear one another's 
burdens if every man must bear his own 
burden ? " The explanation satisfied her, 
and she returned to ponder over the sa- 
cred page with renewed delight. Bessie 
was only nine years of age and her sis- 
ter seven when they were reading to- 
gether one day the 37th Psalm. At the 



34 LITTLE BESSIE. 



passage which reads: "Mark the per- 
fect man," another discrepancy met them 
which they labored hard to explain to 
themselves, all unconscious that papa was 
listening to the young expositors. 

" How can you mark the perfect man," 
said Sepha, "if no one is perfect, as papa 
read to-day in the school ? " 

Bessie was puzzled and freely acknowl- 
edged that if there is none perfect it 
would be impossible to mark what did 
not exist. Then she added with a sort 
of triumph, 

" I know one man that is perfect." 

"Who?" asked Sepha, in great aston- 
ishment. 

" Papa's perfect," said Bessie. 

" Oh, yes," replied Sepha, " I know 
papa's perfect; but then the Bible doesn't 



BESSIE'S BIBLE. 35 



mean him. I'll tell you what I think it 
means, Bessie. Mark the perfect man if 
ye can find him." 

On a fly-leaf in Bessie's Bible I find 
the following memoranda in her hand- 
writing — Prayer, at the head of the page, 
then the Lord's Prayer, Matt. vi. 9-13, 
Luke xi. 2-4. A prayer of Paul, Eph. 
iii. 14-23; a prayer of Jehoshaphat, II 
Chron. xx. ' 6-13; a prayer of David, 
Psalm li ; of Solomon, II Chron. vi. 14 
-42; of Stephen, Acts vii. 59, 60; of 
Christ, John xvii. 1-26; of the thief, 
Luke xxiii. 42. 

Throughout her Bible are many pas- 
sages, relating to children, pencil-marked 
and underscored, such as, " Little chil- 
dren, love one another." " Like as a fa- 
ther pitieth his children." " Hearken unto 



36 LITTLE BESSIE. 



me now, therefore, ye children, and at- 
tend to the words of my mouth." "My 
little children, these things write I unto 
you, that ye sin not." " Little children 
it is the last time," etc. In Genesis xvi. 
13, the words, " Thou God seest me" are 
heavily underscored, and opposite them 
is penciled on the margin, "My motto 
for 1879." In her writing-desk is found 
an envelope labelled, "Bessie Smyth's fa- 
vorite chapters and verses," and inside a 
sheet of small note paper on which is 
written a list of these passages. Among 
them are Deut. xxxiii. 25, II Kings ii. 1- 
16, Psalms cxxviii. cxxxi. cxxxiii. ; many 
passages in Proverbs, Eccl. xii., Matt, 
xvii. 1-13, St. John xiv. and xv., Eomans 
viii. Very many of the most beautiful 
passages in the book of Revelation are 



BESSIE'S BIBLE. 37 



also noted. Again there is a long list 
of the names and titles of Christ. Spe- 
cial subjects — such as, The Tongue, The 
Lips, The Heart, seem to have been stud- 
ied and a large number of passages, both 
in the Old and New Testaments, bearing 
on these are noted. Let it be remem- 
bered these methods of Bible study were 
entirely her own. The mind was so 
strong and active that no attempt was 
made to force it in any department of 
study, but rather to guide it in its own 
forward movements. "The Bible Com- 
panion," published by Carter Brothers, 
she found in my library and came to 
tell papa what a treasure she had dis- 
covered, only when she had read half 
through it. 

On my desk one day she found the 



38 LITTLE BESSIE. 



"Bible and Prayer Union" card for 1880. 
After reading it through carefully, she 
inquired if the card belonged to any 
one. I replied no; it was one left over 
from a number I had procured for some 
friends who wished to become members 
of the Union. She begged to have it. 
"But," I said, "Bessie, you see the terms 
on which these cards are given. Do you 
think you can comply with them and be- 
come a member?" 

"Oh yes, papa, I have read the card 
all through, and I want to be a mem- 
ber." She received the card, which con- 
tains the two simple terms of member- 
ship, namely: 

" 1. Each member to read one and 
the same chapter daily: asking God's 
blessing upon the Word read. 



BESSIE'S BIBLE. 39 



"2. Each member to pray every Sun- 
day morning for all the members." 

I have good reason to believe she com- 
plied with these conditions, for I inci- 
dentally saw her on her knees with 
hands clasped and eyes reverently closed 
alone in her room at hours of the 
day other than those of morning and 
evening when she was accustomed to 
pray. 

Bessie was only eight years of age, 
when one night, going to bed, she of- 
fered the following prayer, of her own 
composing, after praying the child's pray- 
er which she had been taught. 

" Oh God, I thank Thee for giving me 
a good papa and mamma, and dear lit- 
tle baby brother, and nice clothes to 
wear, and good food to eat and a good 



40 LITTLE BESSIE. 



home. Make me a good, truthful girl 
for Christ's sake. Amen." 

The following incident, childish though 
it be, might teach older children to make 
religion a practical matter and bring it 
into the daily experience of life. Bes- 
sie's sister Sepha had been presented last 
Christmas with a very pretty doll. While 
out playing by the fountain the dolly's 
shoes were lost. Both children were in 
great trouble. Bessie knelt down in the 
snow and prayed God to help them find 
the shoes, then she rose and looked all 
round. This she did three times in suc- 
cession. The third time, to their great 
delight, sure enough the little shoes were 
found close by. " Child-like faith " is the 
best type of Christian believing. 

On the fly-leaf of her Bible is written 



BESSIE'S BIBLE. 41 



— " Bessie's First Bible, from her loving 
papa. II Timothy hi. 15 — 'And that from 
a child thou hast known the Holy Script- 
ures which are able to make thee wise 
unto salvation through faith which is in 
Christ Jesus.' " 

One day I said to her, " Bessie, do you 
think you are a Christian ? " 

She replied, "I don't know, papa, but 
I think I am." 

" Why do you think so, Bessie ? " I said. 

"Because the Bible says, 'He that be- 
lieveth on the Lord Jesus Christ shall be 
saved,' and I believe Jesus; and He said, 
'Suffer little children to come unto Me; 
and He would not refuse a poor little 
child after that.' " 



V. 

CORRECTION. 

"The twig is so easily bended, 

I have banished the rule and the rod; 
I have taught them the goodness of knowledge 

They have taught me the goodness of God. 
My heart is a dungeon of darkness, 

Where I shut them from breaking a rule; 
My frown is sufficient correction; 

My love is the law of the school." 

nr^HERE is nothing in the training of 
children that requires greater wis- 
dom and judgment than the correction 
of their faults. This is the point that 
sorely perplexes many a good parent and 
the point of experience where many a 
child is ruined. That the best of chil- 
dren need to have their faults corrected, 



CORRECTION. 43 



no one doubts, but just lioiu to do this, is 
one of the most trying parts of a parent's 
duty to his children. The lack of intel- 
ligent discipline in badly regulated house- 
holds is one of the most fruitful sources 
of the demoralization so prevalent among 
the children and youth of the present day. 
The writer does not profess to any supe- 
rior wisdom on the subject. He has felt, 
as much as any one perhaps, its embar- 
rassments and the absolute need of divine 
help to "train up a child in the way he 
should go." 

Happily in the case of Bessie severe 
measures were never necessary. The first 
time I ever remember to have punished 
her was when she was four years old. 
She had been impatient and rebellious to 
her governess. I reasoned kindly with the 



44 LITTLE BESSIE. 



child, and told her it was very naughty, 
and that if repeated I would have to chas- 
tise her for it. She knew it was wrong 
and promised me it should not be repeated. 
A few days after she came into my study 
and said, 

u Papa, I want to tell you something." 

" Well, Bessie," I said, " come away 
and tell papa whatever you have to 
say." 

"I am very sorry, papa, but I was a 
little bit naughty to Miss H." 

" Tell me all about it, Bessie — -just every 
thing as it happened." 

"Well, she wanted to dress me, and I 
did not want to get dressed, and I slapped 
Miss H. on the face ! " 

'^Didn't you know it was very wrong 
of you to do that ? " 



CORRECTION, 45 



"Yes, I knew it was wrong." 

"Why did you do it?" 

"I don't know, papa. I just did it so 
quick, I couldn't think of my promise." 

"You remember what I told you last 
time?" 

"Yes, I remember." 

There was a long pause which she 
broke with — 

" Well, papa, whip me." 

" You think you ought to be whipped ? " 

" Yes, I ought to be whipped, for I was 
naughty." 

"Bring me the ruler then, Bessie, off 
my desk." 

She promptly obeyed, handed the ruler, 
then held out her little palm; her eyes 
were moistened, a sweet smile of submis- 
sion and affection sat on the beautiful. 



46 LITTLE BESSIE. 



penitent face; the promise was kept, the 
punishment was very light on the little 
hand, but very heavy on papa's heart, 
which the child felt most and lost no 
time in clasping her arms about his neck 
and " kissing it all away." 

Three years had passed before any thing 
occurred that required decided treatment. 
Bessie was not quite seven years old, 
when having thoughtlessly repeated a 
fault of which she had been told she was 
tempted to prevaricate when questioned 
about it. I have a horror of this sin 
which is uniformly found in juvenile de- 
linquents. She was severely rebuked and 
corrected for it, and told if she knew how 
it distressed papa she would never be 
guilty of it again. Prayer was offered 
for her, and she was requested to ask 



CORRECTION. 47 



God's forgiveness. She knelt in my study 
and prayed — " Lord, forgive me for tell- 
ing this naughty lie, and I will never do 
so any more." And she never did. She 
was ever after the most truthful of chil- 
dren, and from the time she was five 
years of age I could trust her and the 
little sister alone in the grounds opposite 
my window with perfect confidence, feel- 
ing certain that they would not go be- 
yond the limits allowed them without 
first asking permission. These are the 
only times in the child's life that she re- 
ceived any thing like correction. Bessie 
was very sensitive to rebuke from papa 
and would wipe away the quiet tears if 
he told her even in the kindest way of 
any errors she fell into. 

"Bessie, papa does not blame you for 



48 LITTLE BESSIE. 



using that improper word. You did not 
know that it was not a nice word for a 
good child to use, else papa feels sure 
you never would have spoken it. He re- 
members that little children do not know 
every thing; when he was a little child 
he did many things that he did not think 
were wrong until some one older than 
himself told him. You do not scold the 
baby when it pokes its little fists into 
your mouth." 

Then she would laugh, and the appre- 
ciation of this consideration for her feel- 
ings would bring tears of gratitude and 
affection, and papa was repaid with "a 
big hug and a bushel of kisses." 

Many of the little faults common to 
childhood were most effectively corrected 
in a way that gave great pleasure to the 



CORRECTION. 49 



subjects while unconsciously receiving the 
correction. 

The craving for bedtime stories was so 
great as to exhaust the entire supply of 
importations, so that we were often ne- 
cessitated to resort to home manufacture, 
and although the fabrics might be very 
inferior, still they suited the customers — 
who did not know the difference — even 
better than if they had been made in 
Paris ! 

In these little impromptu stories the 
faults to be corrected were personated 
by some very ridiculous or despicable 
character and painted in most laugh- 
able or hideous coloring, while the op- 
posite virtues were sure to adorn a child 
that every body fell in love with. The 
merry peals of laughter at some of these 



50 LITTLE BESSIE. 



absurd characters, the tender sympathy 
with the gentle and good, the indigna- 
tion expressed at the mean and base, 
and the admiration for the brave and 
noble afforded many pleasant and prof- 
itable evening hours both to the narra- 
tor and the listeners, and the corrections 
effected were immediate and permanent. 
At the wedding reception of their 
"new mamma," upwards of a hundred 
guests came to tender their congratula- 
tions. Among them was a son of the 
President of the United States. He de- 
voted the evening to the little girls and 
requested the favor of their portraits, 
when leaving, saying he had never 
seen more lovely children. They were 
dressed in white, and with their golden 
hair, blue eyes, and beautiful, clear, rosy 



CORRECTION. 51 



complexions looked very pretty; but most 
of all they were admired for their sweet 
manners and good behavior. Our atten- 
tion had to be largely given to the guests 
during the evening so that the children 
were left very much to themselves. 

At the close when most of the visitors 
had gone, the two little ones came to me 
and were sitting one on each knee in 
the parlor enjoying our usual tete a tete 
before their going to bed. Two lady 
friends busily engaged in conversation 
in a distant part of the room, stopped, 
and the silence caused us to look round, 
thinking they had gone, when they broke 
out into a hearty laugh and said, 
" We are enjoying the tableau." 
" Cousin George," said one, "what have 
you done to those children? How did 



52 LITTLE BESSIE. 



you train them so? They are the most 
perfect children, in their beautiful beha- 
vior, I ever saw ! " 

This lady is a graduate of Holyoake 
Seminary, a minister's wife occupying a 
useful and prominent place in the Pres- 
byterian Church, and is the mother of 
three fine lads, two of them now young 
men, having graduated with honor and 
entered professional life. Our reply was, 

"We have done nothing to them, but 
let them alone." 

Indeed, until the reflection was awak- 
ened by this enthusiastic admiration of 
our children, it had never occurred to us 
how little teaching in this respect they 
had received. They had been much with 
papa the previous two or three years, 
had always had the advantage of cul- 



CORRECTION. 53 



tured care, but the want of a mother's 
instinctive training and tender affection 
to little children in that early moulding 
period of their lives can not be replaced 
by any other influence whatever. Hap- 
pily for them and for me, too, they did 
not need as much discipline as most 
children. Bessie was a born princess, 
naturally refined and delicate in every 
instinct of her nature. Her manners 
were sweet, simple, and child-like. There 
was no affecting of the woman, but the 
innocent transparent child in all its rosy, 
artless beauty. Of weak sentimentality, 
she had none. Hers was strength and gen- 
tleness combined. Her self - unconscious- 
ness was the great charm of her character. 
In the early part of last summer, at a 
social gathering in the Superintendent's 



54 LITTLE BESSIE. 



parlor, she played, with her accomplished 
music teacher, a duet of difficult execu- 
tion, eighteen pages long, to the delight 
and astonishment of the guests ; and when 
she finished, hopped down from the piano, 
picked up her doll and sat down beside 
her sister utterly astonished that the peo- 
ple should make such ado about nothing 
as it seemed to her. The thing that she 
seemed most to have a conscious pride in, 
was that papa enjoyed her music. Noth- 
ing gave her greater pleasure than to 
have him sit by her while she played his 
favorite pieces. When little Georgie was 
only two years old, she would stand him 
up beside her at the piano to sing while 
she played the accompaniment of u Papa's 
little Scotch song" — 



CORRECTION. 55 



"I am far frae my hame, and I'm weary aftenwhiles, 
For the langed-for hame-bringing an' my Father's 

welcome smiles; 
I'll ne'er be fa' content until my een do see 
The gowden gates o' heaven an' my ain countree ! 

The earth is flecked wae flowers mony-tinted, fresh, 

and gay, 
The birdies warble blithely, for my Father made 

them sae. 
But these sights and these sounds will as naething 

be to me, 
"When I hear the angels singing in my ain countree." 



VI. 

HOME LIFE. 

"Home's not merely four square walls, 
Though with pictures hung and gilded; 
Home is where affection calls — 
Filled with shrines the heart hath builded. 

"Home — go watch the faithful dove, 
Sailing 'neath the heaven above us — 
Home is were there's one to love, 
Home is where there's one to love us. 

"Home's not merely roof and room, 
It needs something to endear it. 
Home is where the heart can bloom; 
Where there's some kind voice to cheer it ! 

"What is home with none to meet, 
None to welcome, none to greet us? 
Home is sweet — and only sweet — 
Where there's one we love to meet us." 

TT is one of the great disadvantages 
of this busy, bustling, pushing, driv- 
ing age that it robs the family of asso- 



HOME LIFE. 57 



ciated home life. Nothing can take the 
place of this without irreparable loss to 
every member of the family. That the 
present age is far in advance of the 
past in many things we believe. The 
schools are better, literature of all kinds, 
especially for the young, is abundant; 
art has become a popular teacher; intel- 
lectual and refined amusements are with- 
in the reach of all ; music of a high order 
is accessible to the masses; travel, once 
the privilege of only a few, is now the 
annual recreation of the multitude; the 
occupations of the working classes are 
greatly multiplied, diversified, and ele- 
vated in their character: notwithstanding 
all these and many more advantages that 
might be enumerated the lack of more 
association of parents and children to- 



58 LITTLE BESSIE. 



gether in the home is one of the serious 
drawbacks in the present state of society. 
No accumulated thousands or even mil- 
lions can atone for the injuries often en- 
tailed upon the children by reason of the 
father's entire absorption in business re- 
quiring his continual absence from home. 
Every man's first duty is to his own 
family, except he has chosen a profes- 
sion that compels him to be constantly 
abroad, such as the sailor or soldier, and 
then he had need have a very wise and 
good woman for his wife. Parents should 
not grudge the outlay of money to beau- 
tify the home nor any amount of effort 
to make it to themselves and to their 
children "the dearest, sweetest spot on 
earth." 

Ninety-five per cent of juvenile delin- 



HOME LIFE. 59 



quency begins by the children running 
away from their homes; perhaps in many 
cases they are not so much to blame 
after all. That domestic affection which 
constitutes the happy family is sadly ab- 
sent from many a home, making it noth- 
ing more than a cold, dreary lodging- 
house. 

Our home had been desolated, broken 
up, and reorganized, but for four years 
the void remained unfilled. Bessie often 
said, "Papa, why don't you get us a 
mamma?" When the wish was grati- 
fied, the " new mamma " was warmly wel- 
comed, and her faithful, tender care was 
repaid with a loving affection in no way 
different from that which she receives 
from the little brother and sister which 
she brought them in after years, and 



6o LITTLE BESSIE. 



whose advents were a source of great 
joy to both Bessie and Sepha. Bessie 
had often wished she had "a true baby 
that could cry." When I playfully re- 
minded her that by touching the spring 
in its breast she could make her doll 
cry, she said, "I want a true baby that 
can cry with tears in its eyes." Little 
Georgie was the first to satisfy this wish. 
Bessie again became the little mother as 
she had formerly been to Sepha, now 
grown to be her companion. She loved 
the child with all the enthusiasm of her 
warm-hearted, affectionate nature, and he 
repaid her with the chief place in his 
affections. 

When peevish or fretful and no one 
could get him to sleep, he would say, 
"I want my Bessie to put me to sleep." 



HOME LIFE. 6 1 



She would take liim in her arms and 
talk and sing so soothingly to him that 
in a few minutes he would be fast asleep. 
Then she would lay him in his little crib, 
and if mamma was not near, she would 
take a book and sit down and read be- 
side him. 

"Papa, ain't he sweet? Just see his 
little chubby arms, and his dear little 
curls! Wouldn't he make a beautiful 
picture ? " 

When the little sister Leeta came, as 
Bessie had somewhat monopolized Georgie, 
Sepha claimed baby as her special right, 
and four happier, brighter children never 
blest a home. Bessie was the chief jus- 
tice and court of appeals in all disputed 
cases, and no one ever questioned a de- 
cision of that court. "Bessie said so" 



62 LITTLE BESSIE. 



adjusted all differences. Usually her ar- 
rival on the scene, without a word, was 
sufficient to settle any difficulty that might 
arise. 

Their croquet ground, hammock, and 
garden occupied them when out of doors. 
In rainy days Bessie's inventive genius 
never failed to make it bright and merry 
within. The tableaux and social games 
and plays which she had seen in fami- 
lies of the Institution were all repro- 
duced in the nursery. Little Georgie of- 
ten lay on the floor as still and motion- 
less as if dead in the tableau of "Sleeping 
Beauty," while she, the guardian angel, 
bent over him with outstretched arms 
and with an expression on her face that 
Eaphael might have been glad to seize. 
Then at other times, Georgie was dressed 



HOME LIFE, 63 



up as an old farmer, wearing a stove- 
pipe hat and a pair of papa's boots, the 
little nose had all it could do to balance 
the huge spectacles that were hung on 
it. Leeta, dressed in the costume of an 
old woman, was his wife, and so with 
umbrella and satchel in hand the aged 
couple would knock at the study door 
and come in to pay their respects to the 
"Chaplain." Or it was a school exhibi- 
tion with recitations, songs, dialogues, 
and plenty of applause. Often it was a 
preaching service, w T hen the pulpit was 
occupied alternately by brother and sis- 
ters. So their leisure time passed mer- 
rily. Lessons were never omitted except 
by special permission, oftener volunteered 
by the teacher than requested by the 
scholars. 



64 LITTLE BESSIE. 



Papa's birthday was always a very 
important day on the calendar to Bes- 
sie. Great care was taken that he should 
have some pleasant reminders of the oc- 
casion and as great secrecy enjoined on 
all the members of the family that it 
should be a complete surprise. As we 
all sat very happy together at the din- 
ner table on the evening of the 20th of 
last March — little we thought that it was 
to be the last 20th of March we should 
all spend together — Bessie announced that 
immediately after dinner the family was 
to assemble in the parlor. On papa's en- 
tering he was enthusiastically saluted and 
forty "hugs" and forty "kisses," were 
administered from four of the happiest 
of children, neatly dressed for the occa- 
sion and all bubbling over with fun. 



HOME LIFE. 65 



Mamma was master of ceremonies and 
from a programme placed in her hands 
announced each performance. First came 
11 Warblings at Eve," a piano performance 
by Bessie; next a duet by the two ba- 
bies, George and Leeta Jean, mounted on 
a box at the piano. Bessie playing the 
accompaniment. Then followed a recita- 
tion by Sepha, after which she and Bes- 
sie played very sweetly one or two duets. 
The last piece on the programme was 
u The twenty-seventh of March," a birth- 
day poem, by Bryant, which Bessie re- 
cited with her bright, deep blue eyes 
beaming on papa with such joyous af- 
fection that he had hard work then, as 
now, to keep back the tears. The pen- 
sive tone that runs through its historic 
and prophetic warblings, falls upon his 



66 LITTLE BESSIE. 



heart to-day like the last sad farewell of 
his sweet and beautiful child. 

"Oh, gentle one, thy birthday sun should rise 
Amid a chorus of the merriest birds 
That ever sang the stars out of the sky 
In a June morning. Bivulets should send 
A voice of gladness from their winding paths. 
Deep in o'erarehing grass, where playful winds, 
Stirring the loaded stems, should shower the dew 
Upon the grassy water. Newly blown 
Boses, by thousands, to the garden-walks 
Should tempt the loitering moth and diligent bee. 
The longest, brightest day in all the year 
Should be the day on which thy cheerful eyes 
First opened on the earth, to make thy haunts 
Fairer and gladder for thy kindly looks. 



Well hast thou borne the bleak March day of life. 
Its storms and its keen winds to thee have been 
Most kindly tempered, and through all its gloom 
There has been warmth and sunshine in thy heart: 



HOME LIFE. 67 



The griefs of life to thee have been like snows, 
That light upon the fields in early spring, 
Making them greener. In its milder hours 
The smile of this pale season, thou hast seen 
The glorious bloom of June, and in the note 
Of early bird, that comes a messenger 
From climes of endless verdure, thou hast heard 
The choir that fills the summer woods with song. 

Now be the hoars that yet remain to thee 

Stormy or sunny, sympathy and love 

That inextinguishably dwell within 

Thy heart, shall give a beauty and a light 

To the most desolate moments, like the glow 

Of a bright fireside in the wildest day; 

And kindly words and oifices of good 

Shall wait upon thy steps, as thou goest on, 

Where God shall lead thee, till thou reach the 

gates 
Of a more genial season, and thy path 
Be lost to human eye among the bowers 
And living fountains of a brighter land." 



68 LITTLE BESSIE. 



Oh my precious Bessie, these were thine 
own thoughts set to music by one who 
could sweep the lyre with a master's hand, 
and whose appreciation of his music would 
have been heightened to hear it echoed 
from thy young and loving heart. 



VII. 

INDUSTRY. 

"How doth the little busy bee 

Improve each shining hour, 

And gather honey all the day 

From every opening flower ! 

"In books, or work, or healthful play, 
Let my first years be past, 
That I may give for every day 
Some good account at last." 

"OESSIE was naturally an active child. 
She was never idle for a moment, 
except it might be the time given to 
sleep. She usually went to bed at eight 
o'clock in the evening, slept soundly until 
about half past five in the morning, rose, 
of her own accord, at six o'clock, fre- 
quently she was at her piano by that 



70 LITTLE BESSIE. 



time, thus taking an hour, and more some- 
times, of vigorous stddy before breakfast. 
From nine to eleven a. m. were given to 
the ordinary school lessons. From eleven 
to one the children spent out of doors. 
A part of the afternoon was devoted to 
the preparation of next day's lessons, two 
hours being spent in the open air before 
dinner at five o'clock. But in all Bessie 
was constantly and earnestly occupied. 
To work or play she gave her whole en- 
ergies. The hour after dinner the family 
spent in papa's study. She would say, 
"Papa, tell us a story," or "talk to us 
about something." A verbal lesson or 
talk on grammar, or in some department 
of familiar science, was always hailed 
with delight; but whatever it might be, 
Bessie must have something started. 



INDUSTRY. 71 



Saturday was given to drawing, letter- 
writing and miscellaneous work. She had 
become very nimble with her pen and 
pencil. She wrote a great deal for a 
child, was quick in composing and pen- 
ning a letter, in making memoranda of 
many things. She kept a diary for more 
than two years previous to her death — a 
child's diary to be sure, much monotony 
and nothing of great importance in it. 
But even so, I believe it is an excellent 
educator of children. It accustoms them 
to recall the little items of each day's ex- 
perience, trains them in the art of com- 
position, a most useful as it is a most 
difficult art to teach children ; gives them 
facility in using their own language and 
ideas of the value of time and opportu- 
nities. I know of no one exercise that 



72 LITTLE BESSIE, 



teaches so many valuable lessons to a 
child as the daily composing and writing 
of its own thoughts. Bessie's drawing 
case is full of beautiful pencil sketches 
and her writing-desk is stuffed with man- 
uscript of a most varied character. One 
of these is a paper on Africa^— its area, 
climate, mountains, rivers, people, and 
many other items of information suffi- 
cient to form the ground-work of a good 
lecture. She saw me perusing " Stanley's 
Tour through the Dark Continent," when 
preparing a lecture on the subject, and 
she said one day — "Now, papa, I am 
going to study about Africa too." So I 
presume that started her to prepare the 
manuscript found in her desk. Another 
is a very good description of the Dead 
Sea, prepared in connection with her Sab- 



INDUSTRY. 71 



bath-school lessons. In her diaries are 
found outlines of the sermons she heard 
in the chapel on Sabbath. The subject, 
text, and analysis of the sermon are noted 
with great proficiency for a child of ten 
years of age. Here is an illustration cop- 
ied as found — 

"Sowing and Reaping. Text, Gal. vi. 7 
— 'Whatsoever a man soweth that shall 
he also reap.' 1st point: There is a sow- 
ing and a reaping time in every life. 
2d point: Each one must reap his own 
harvest. 3d point: The harvest will be 
according to the sowing and must be 
reaped through all eternity." 

Still another is on the subject of " Ee- 
ceiving Christ — by whom we receive, 1st, 
Pardon; 2d, Purity; 3d, Peace; 4th, Pro- 
tection." 



74 LITTLE BESSIE. 



It is a great mistake to suppose that 
sermons can not be made interesting to 
children. They can be made both inter- 
esting and instructive to the young and 
also to adults at the same time. On one 
occasion, while preaching to the members 
of the Sabbath-school of my church at 
Washington City the Attorney General 
of the United States was present with 
his wife. For legal ability, scholarly cul- 
ture, and pure Christian character prob- 
ably no superior ever occupied that ex- 
alted position. After a cordial greeting 
from him at the close of the service and 
an invitation to dinner, I said, u Judge, 
I am sorry you came to-day (he was not 
a member of my church) when I -was 
giving one of my plain talks to the chil- 
dren." He replied, "Well, I am glad I 



INDUSTRY. 75 



heard that sermon. It was a good ser- 
mon for the children, and it was a good 
sermon for me; and if ministers would 
preach oftener to the children, they would 
do the parents much good at the same 
time." 

At the regular Sabbath morning service 
in the Chapel of the House of Refuge 
a distinguished military gentleman and 
statesman, an ambassador from one of 
the leading courts of Europe was pres- 
ent. At the close of the service he rose, 
and taking the chaplain by the hand, 
said with great warmth of feeling, u That 
sermon was so well suited to these chil- 
dren they must be better for it. I saw 
it made a deep impression on them; but 
I rose to thank you for myself. It just 
suited me." A manuscript volume which 



j6 LITTLE BESSIE. 



has been perused with interest by some 
of the most cultivated Christian minds 
of the metropolis was written by one of 
the girls in the Refuge and presented 
to the matron. It is filled with outlines 
of the sermons she heard in the Institu- 
tion, each sermon written out from mem- 
ory at different times during the week 
succeeding its delivery. The subject, text, 
and divisions, with many illustrations and 
leading thoughts, are given with incred- 
ible approach to accuracy. 

In eight years' experience, in preach- 
ing to children, the following principles 
have aided me, as I asked myself how 
it is to be done. 1. The attention must 
be captured. 2. The mind instructed. 3. 
The heart impressed. The same will hold 
good in preaching to adults. Great in- 



INDUSTRY. 77 



jury is done to children by the ignorant 
criticisms, they too often hear about ser- 
mons, as "dull," "long," "prosy," and the 
like. There are prosy poems, pictures, 
parties, and even weddings. So there are 
some prosy sermons; but there are many 
poetical, like those of Guthrie ; philo- 
sophical, like those of Bushnell; grand, 
like those of Chalmers; powerful, like 
those of Edwards; fascinating, like the 
plain talks of Moody and Spurgeon. "In 
sermons are found the best thoughts of 
the human mind." This was said by a 
wise and learned man and it does not 
benefit a child to prejudice him against 
the means which Infinite Wisdom ap- 
pointed for the conversion of the world 
when He said — " Go into all the world 
and preach," etc. 



78 LITTLE BESSIE. 



This digression has not been prompted 
by vanity, but in the interest of chil- 
dren, for whose salvation I am earnest- 
ly laboring. 

My own child had great delight in 
hearing sermons and in recording what 
she could remember of them, and on 
one occasion when papa was sick she 
thought she could help him by writing 
a sermon for him. This occurred just 
one year before her death, when she 
was only ten years of age. The follow- 
ing is a copy, without any correction. 

"Subject, 'The Promised Crown.' Text 
— 'The crown of life which the Lord hath 
promised to them that love Him.' — James 
i. 12. 

"First, God promises a crown of life. 
When a man or woman is made king 



INDUSTRY. 79 



or queen, they are crowned for life. So 
are God's people; they are crowned for 
all eternity with a crown of life. They 
receive the crown by faith. Eevelation ii. 
10 — "Be faithful unto death, and I will 
give thee a crown." .... 

"Second, The one who promises. The 
Lord promises the crown. God does not 
break His promise. Whatever He prom- 
ises He always does. A crown of life! 
Oh what a nice promise! 

"Third, The people to whom it is prom- 
ised. It is promised to them that love 
Him. God does not promise a crown to 
every one, but only to them that love 
Him. 

"Fourth, The kind of a crown. It is a 
crown of life. Just to think — to wear a 
crown of life forever ! " 



8o LITTLE BESSIE. 



The subject was suggested to her by 
the hymn " Crown of Life," which she 
found in her Cousin Mattie's room where 
she was spending the evening while in 
the country. The sermon was finished 
in part. She brought the manuscript 
home, and in her next letter to her 
cousin she writes — "We arrived home 
safely. I finished my sermon yesterday." 
It was afterwards found in her desk in 
her own handwriting, as given above, 
only slightly condensed. 

BESSIE'S SCRAP BOOK 

is another illustration of her industry, 
while it shows the literary taste, good 
judgment, and humorous characteristics 
of her mind. It has numerous pictures 
of flowers, birds, animals, landscapes, 



INDUSTRY. 8 1 

children, Christmas cards, etc. It has 
selections of prose and poetry, gay and 
grave, anecdotes, stories, wit and wis- 
dom, that must have taken many an 
hour to cull from varied sources and ar- 
range with artistic skill and fitness. I 
am sorry that I am not able to give 
the names of the authors of the few selec- 
tions which are given here as illustrations 
of her peculiar bent of mind. Many of 
them I presume are taken from that most 
excellent juvenile paper, " The Youth's 
Companion," of which she was very 
fond, and had been a regular reader 
for several years. Were this Scrap Book 
printed as it is, though not completed, 
with its great variety of pictures and beau- 
tiful selections, it would make a charming 
volume of juvenile literature. The Scrap 



82 LITTLE BESSIE. 



Book is greatly to be commended to chil- 
dren. It affords pleasant and profitable 
occupation for the rainy days. It culti- 
tivates a literary taste, and is one of 
the best instructors in the art of criti- 
cism which, when formally taught to 
young students, so often degenerates 
into fastidious or morbid fault-finding. 
It gives zest to their reading and saves 
from the waste basket many beautiful 
thoughts and valuable items of informa- 
tion which find their way into some of 
the choice child literature of the day. 
It helps the child to be his own educa- 
tor; to investigate and acquire for him- 
self; to be more independent and self- 
reliant, a most valuable principle in 
forming manly character and one which, 
in these days of multiplied schools and 



INDUSTRY. 83 



colleges, is too often overlooked. The 
following are a few specimens of the 
variety and character of the scraps found 
in Bessie's book. 

"keep a list. 

"1. Keep a list of your friends: and 
let God be the first in the list, however 
long it may be. 

"2. Keep a list of the gifts you get; 
and let Christ, who is the unspeakable 
gift, be first. 

"3. Keep a list of your mercies; and 
let pardon and life stand at the head. 

"4. Keep a list of your joys; and let the 
joy unspeakable and full of glory be the 
first. 

"5. Keep a list of your hopes; and let 
the hope of glory be foremost. 



84 LITTLE BESSIE. 



"6. Keep a list of your sorrows; and 
let the sorrow for sin be first. 

"7. Keep a list of your enemies; and 
however many there may be, put down 
the ' old man ' and the ' old serpent ' 
first. 

"8. Keep a list of your sins; and let 
the sin of unbelief be set down as the 
first and worst of all." 

" WOULD NOT BE SEPARATED. 

"It is a curious fact, that the only in- 
stances of heroism given in the account 
of the wreck of the Metropolis were of 
the courage of two boys. When the ship, 
bound for the far-off Brazils, with its 
crew of three hundred laborers, was about 
to leave the docks at Philadelphia, a lit- 
tle fellow of eight ran along the wharf 



INDUSTRY. 85 



crying, ' Oh father ! father ! ' His father 
leaped on shore and caught him in his 
arms. 'Let me take him, for God's sake/ 
he begged of the agents. 'He shan't be 
in the way.' 'Impossible!' was the re- 
ply. 'Go aboard.' 'No, I will throw tip 
the chance. I can't leave them all be- 
hind ! ' But Jamie knew that this chance 
of work at the other side of the world 
was all that stood between them all and 
starvation. He wiped his eyes and tried 
to laugh. 'Go on, papa, you'll soon be 
back. I'll be a good boy and take care 
of mother.' And as the great ship swung 
from her moorings, many a wet eye turned 
on the sturdy little fellow standing erect 
and tearless watching her go. Another 
man, named Kellaher, was more fortu- 
nate, and had secured provision to take 



86 LITTLE BESSIE. 



his son, a child of seven, with him. The 
boy's mother was dead, and his father 
had reared him since he was a baby. 
The two were quite alone in the world. 
Kellaher was a stout, cheerful industrious 
fellow, and the agent had relaxed the rules 
in order to secure him. In the brief voy- 
age of two days, both he and little Char- 
lie made many friends. When the ship 
struck and was going down in the aw- 
ful storm, Kellaher was helpless, not be- 
ing able to swim. He was looking for 
something to which both he and his boy 
could cling, when one of the sailors brought 
a spar and began to tie the boy to it. Char- 
lie pushed it away. ' Papa has no board. 
I don't want to live without my papa,' 
and ran to him clinging about his neck. 
The next moment both were washed into 



INDUSTRY. 87 



the sea. They were found afterwards in 
each other's arms dead on the beach, and 
[Jamie's father near them dead, also, but 
alone. Jamie yet lives to be, let us hope, 
'a good boy, and to take care of moth- 
er.' It is easier to die a heroic death some- 
times than to live a heroic life." 

The above was a character Bessie could 
sympathize with. On one occasion, when 
a friend was urging me to accompany him 
on a tour through Europe, she said, 

"Well, papa, if you go, you must take 
me too." 

"The sea is dangerous, Bessie; and if 
a storm should arise we might go to the 
bottom." 

"Well, papa, if you were drowned, I 
would rather go down with you than 
live without you," was her earnest reply. 



LITTLE BESSIE. 



The following stanza is illustrative of 
Bessie's own sunny, happy disposition. 

" SMILE WHENEER YOU CAN. 

"When things don*t go to suit yon, 

And the world seems upside down 
Don't waste your time in fretting 

But drive away that frown; 
Since life is oft perplexing 

*Tis much the wisest plan 
To bear all trials bravely 

And smile whene'er you can." 



VIII. 

DISPOSITION. 

"I was tired and fall of gloom, 

When you came, my Bess. 
Dark and lonely seemed the room 

Till you came, my Bess. 
But your presence changed it quite, 
In you brought a flood of light, 
Made my study warm and bright — 

Sunny little Bess." — Haeold.* 

T) ESSIE'S sweet, happy disposition threw 
a charm over every thing she did. 
She was a healthy, strong child and so 
constantly active from the time she rose 
in the morning, usually before six o'clock, 
until she retired at eight in the evening, 

* Taken from one of the child's scrap selections, 
on the margin of which she had pencilled, "Just 
like Sepha," meaning her sister. We have taken the 
liberty to substitute Bess for Belle. 



90 LITTLE BESSIE. 



that I often wondered how she could 
stand it. And yet I never saw her tired, 
depressed or morbid for a single hour, 
but always bright, buoyant, and sunny. 
She radiated joy and gladness wherever 
she went. I do not believe Bessie ever 
touched a human being that was not 
made better and happier for it. Nor is 
this the partial judgment of a fond fa- 
ther, but the universal impression made 
on all that ever knew her. One of these 
writes — " Bessie seemed the picture of 
health, and as good as she was beautiful. 
I have often heard it remarked of her, 
'Bessie is too good for this world.' No 
one that ever saw her could forget her. 
Her memory will be filled with the rec- 
ollections of the pleasure she always gave 
wherever she was." Another writes — " In 



DISPOSITION. 91 



the case of darling Bessie, there will be 
nothing to remember but loveliness and 
beauty and that of a rare and heavenly 
kind." Still another friend writes — "I 
have just been reading one of Mrs. He- 
mans' beautiful poems which seems to 
speak of dear Bessie so plainly that I 
copy a part of it for you. 

"dirge of a child. 
"No bitter tears for thee be shed, 
Blossom' of being ! seen and gone ! 
With flowers alone we strew thy bed, 

O blest departed one ! 
Whose all of life, a rosy ray, 
Blush' d into dawn and pass'd away. 

"Yes! thou art fled, ere guilt had power 
To stain thy cherub soul and form. 
Closed is the soft ephemeral flower 

That never felt a storm ! 
The sunbeam's smile, the zephyr's breath, 
All that it knew from birth to death. 



92 LITTLE BESSIE. 



"Thou wert so like a form of light, 
That heaven benignly call'd thee hence, 
Ere yet the world could breathe one blight 

O'er thy sweet innocence: 
And thou that brighter home to bless, 
Art pass'd with all thy loveliness." 

Parents who have been alike bereaved 
will not chide me if my heart yearns 

"For the touch of a vanished hand 
And the sound of a voice that is still ! 

And while I bow in submission to the 
holy will of Him who "doeth all things 
well," yet have to say — 

"The tender grace of a day that is dead 
Will never come back to me." 

Bessie's nurse, who attended her in her 
last illness said, "I have nursed a great 



DISPOSITION. 93 



many children in my time, but such a 
perfect character as Bessie I have never 
seen. I have been made a better woman 
for my experience with that sweet, blessed 
child. 1 ' 

"The notice" — of Bessie's death — "is 
too late for the morning paper," said an 
editor of a leading New York daily, "it 
can not go in now. Whose child?" On 
being told, he said, " Oh I knew her well, 
saw her often playing in the grounds of 
the Institution as I fished in the Harlem 
Kiver; she was a most attractive child. 
I will put it in as a special notice." 

"I was away on my vacation," said a 
brother minister, "when I saw the no- 
tice of Bessie's death in the papers. Her 
bright, joyous face and beautiful form 
rose before me as with light, elastic step 



94 LITTLE BESSIE. 



she skipped along like a bird in front of 
us the last time we were walking to- 
gether, and I said, oh what a terrible loss 
my brother Smyth has sustained." 

Bessie was seldom beyond the limits of 
her isolated home, but somehow she was 
known to a great many people, and loved 
by all who knew her. "I have never 
known such widespread sorrow about any 
child," said one who bore me many mes- 
sages of Christian sympathy and broth- 
erly kindness. The girls in the laundry 
used to beg for the privilege of washing, 
"just one of little Bessie Smyth's gar- 
ments," and the large boys in the House 
would stop in their wildest plays in the 
yard, and look on with a kindly awe 
when "the Chaplain's little girl" passed. 
Tiny baskets made from peach or plumb 



DISPOSITION. 95 



stones, finger rings, of colored beads strung 
on wire, and many little trinkets of curi- 
ous manufacture were often urged upon 
the " Chaplain " as presents for his little 
daughter. Bessie's presence in school or 
chapel was sure to send a smiling ripple 
of kindly recognition over the congrega- 
tion. When Bessie was only a little over 
four years of age, that grand, good man, 

the Eev. Dr. , with his genial face 

and perpendicular hair, lectured one even- 
ing at the Eefuge, greatly to the delight 
of officers and inmates. At the close he 
kept a parlorful of people in roars of 
laughter frolicking with Bessie and draw- 
ing out her child witticisms. 

Several months after, returning from a 
visit to Washington, she saw the doctor 
on the platform of a railroad station and 



96 LITTLE BESSIE. 



from the car window shouted, "Dr. ! 

Dr. ! " When I returned to the car 

with some eatables from the " ten-minute 
refreshment room," her governess was very- 
much disconcerted because a strange gen- 
tleman had carried off my child. Bessie 
was found in the centre of a very happy 
company of friends in a palace-car, sit- 
ting on the good doctor's knee singing — 

"Once there was a little kitty 
"White as snow. 
In a barn she used to frolic 
A long time ago," etc. 

And when she got to where "the pussy 
bit the mousie and the mousie said 'oh,'" 
the dominie's hair stood erect, and he 
was greatly frightened, and the people 
greatly delighted with the "little mousie." 



DISPOSITION. 97 



Wit and repartee. Bessie had a keen 
sense of the ludicrous, and in her reading 
or observation was quick in detecting 
whatever was humorous or witty. Over 
her risibilities, however, she had perfect 
control, and could preserve the most seri- 
ous and respectful countenance when it 
would have been rude or improper to 
explode in laughter. Often she has come 
into my study shaking with merriment 
at some witticism she had met with in 
her juvenile books or papers or some- 
thing she had seen or heard. The do- 
mestic scenes, pictured in her illustrated 
books, of babies, chickens, kittens, and 
cotton balls afforded her constant enjoy- 
ment. 

Bessie was a little fountain of fun, glee, 
and vivacity, out of which leaped many 



98 LITTLE BESSIE. 



sparkling gems of child wit. Alas, they 
have floated away from a memory that 
with their departure has lost much of 
its elasticity and power to recall them. 
Seeing me write often to " brother" min- 
isters she said, "Papa, yours must be a 
large family, you have so many 'broth- 
ers.' " Once while reading a work on 
"Race Education" during the evening 
hour that had usually been given to the 
children, she said to her sister, "Sepha, 
papa's so busy educating the race, I'm 
afraid he won't have an hour to spare 
for his own children this evening." This 
was said with a very sober face while a 
rougish twinkle in the eyes told that it 
was for papa's special benefit. 

When only nine years of age I was one 
day criticising her writing. 



DISPOSITION. 99 



" Bessie," I said, " your first line is the 
best, and your last line is the worst. Now 
the reverse of this should be the case 
The first line should be good, the next; 
better, and the last best.'' 1 

A slight shadow of regret fell upon her 
face, which I dispelled by saying, 

"I guess we will turn the copy-book 
upside down and that will make it come 
right." 

She brightened up and retorted, "You 
know, papa, the writing nearest to the 
copy is always the best." 

This spring she and I were playing 
croquet with her two cousins Eoss and 
Tom. The play of their wits was as often 
heard as the crack of their mallets, and 
Bessie contributed freely her well-aimed 
strokes in both. Cousin Tom, who had 



IOO LITTLE BESSIE. 



been perhaps ahead in the wit, was rather 
behind in his croquet, when all at once 
he made a good run. 

a Tom," she said, "that stroke put you 
above par" (pa). 

I had often spoken of drawing up a 
chronological chart to be used in our 
reading together of sacred and secular 
history. One day I found on my desk a 
letter addressed to me in Bessie's hand- 
writing. On opening it, it proved to be 
a chronological chart of her own mak- 
ing. It contained the birthdays of ev- 
ery member of our family, and closed 
thus — 

u These, dear papa, are the most im- 
portant dates to be remembered. Thank 
you for my nice presents. I have spent 
a very happy day." 



DISPOSITION. i oi 



Bessie teas a most unselfish child, and was 
never happier than when doing something 
to please and benefit others. She would 
leave the most fascinating book to play 
with the little ones, and cheerfully give 
up to them her most cherished treasures. 
She and her little cousin Birdie were 
greatly wrapped up in each other, and 
counted the days, hours, and minutes 
almost, until the promised meeting could 
take place ; and yet if any thing came to 
prevent it, Bessie would bear the great 
disappointment with such a sweet grace. 
" Never mind, papa, it cannot be helped, 
and I can go another time to see Birdie, 
just as well as now." This would be said 
without the least tremor in the voice, or 
any indication of emotion, save that the 
silent tear would be brushed aside in a 



102 LITTLE BESSIE. 



way that papa might not see she was 
struggling, nobly, against a disappoint- 
ment keenly felt. 

One of the ladies of the Institution who 
knew the child intimately writes — 

"My acquaintance with darling Bessie 
began in the summer of 1876. A little 
incident which occurred the first time I 
saw her, betokened a rare thoughtfulness 
for a child of seven years. It was on 
the evening of the Fourth of July; a 
number of the officers on the front ver- 
andah were laughing and chatting as 
they watched the display of fireworks 
from the city; the two little girls clap- 
ping their hands with joy and delight 
as they saw the bright rockets dart up 
and explode in the air. Suddenly Bes- 
sie said, 'Pa, don't you think we ought 



DISPOSITION. 103 



to go upstairs ? ' ■ Why, ray dear, are 
you not enjoying this treat ? ' ' Oh yes, 
sir, but you know mamma is alone, and 
we don't like to be alone when we are 
not well.' She was a devoted sister to 
the little ones. Her manner was kind 
and persuasive. She did not attempt to 
drive, but gently led them; thus — 'Now, 
Georgie, don't you know mamma said 
you must not go down there near the 
river, and we must do just as mamma 
says.' The little fellow would turn to 
her and say, 'I love my Bessie/ and so 
what with many a one — even older than 
Bessie — would have been the occasion of 
a conflict to be put down with the rod, 
became the prompter of renewed affec- 
tion and devotion. From her play and 
playmates, which she loved with all her 



104 LITTLE BESSIE. 



enthusiastic nature, I have seen her go 
to her lessons or her bed, if the hour 
for either had come, as cheerfully and 
promptly as if that was her greatest de- 
light. When indulgences were tendered 
her thus — 'Your bedtime has come, Bes- 
sie, but if you wish you can stay up a 
little longer with your friends. , 'Just 
as you say. I will do whatever you 
tell me to,' and she would wait until 
papa or mamma would say what she 
had better do. Bessie was naturally a 
devout child. More than once I have 
seen her reading her Bible with an in- 
terest such as a little girl of her age 
usually reads a story boot. To me she 
was an epistle known and read by all 
who knew her. I shall never forget the 
last time I conversed with her. I was 



DISPOSITION. 105 



going away to be absent two weeks. I 
went up to say 'good-by' to the family. 
Georgie was lying on the sofa in the 
parlor, ill with the fever. Bessie was sit- 
ting beside him, leaning over and talk- 
ing to him. As I entered, with her usual 
politeness, she rose and gave me a chair, 
and we had a pleasant little talk of a 
few minutes. I kissed them both 'good- 
by,' saying — 'Well, Bessie, I hope that 
when I return I shall find Georgie well.' 
She kissed him and said, 'Your Bessie 
hopes so too, don't she, darling?' Ah, 
little did I think that those were the 
last words I should ever hear her speak! 
But how sweet the thought, that the 
first and last utterances that I ever heard 
from her lips were those of love and ten- 
der thoughtfulness for others." 



lo6 LITTLE BESSIE, 



Bessie was a most affectionate child. The 
evening before her mother died she was 
taken into her room to see her and as 
she was caried out in the arms of a 
friend she said, "good-by, my bootiful 
mamma." This was the last time she 
saw her alive. A few days after, one 
who loved her from the first moment she 
saw her an infant by her mother's side, 
took her to spend the day with her. 
On entering the room, the first thing 
that attracted Bessie's attention was a 
picture of papa which the lady had hung 
there. The child asked to have it. She 
took it in her arms and kissed it many 
times keeping it near her as long as she 
stayed. When her pet canary died — her 
first birthday gift after coming to her 
home on the Island — she felt the loss 



DISPOSITION. 107 



most keenly. She and her sister Sepha 
laid him out in a candy box — most fit- 
tingly, for he was a sweet little creature 
both in form and voice — and with gentle 
hands and tearful eyes laid him in a 
grave made by themselves at the root 
of a flowering shrub in the grounds near 
to a bed of beautiful flowers. At the 
head of the grave a piece of slate was 
set up with the following inscription cut 
on it with a nail by Bessie — 

u To the memory of dear little Beauty, 
who died March, 28, 1877. Poor little 
Beauty is gone." 

Bessie was a most appreciative child. 
She enjoyed every thing. If I gave her 
the smallest gift or indulgence, it would 
make her so happy — a walk with me in 
the city, an hour s romp in the grounds 



Io8 LITTLE BESSIE. 



with her and the other children, or a 
bedtime story would draw forth such 
enthusiastic acknowledgments as — " Oh 
you are a dear, good papa! We have 
had such a nice time — you do love your 
children, papa." On one occasion Sepha 
had lost a common pin from her wrap- 
pings which papa had put there as they 
were going out to play, and Bessie felt 
so grieved about it that she cried and 
could not enjoy their play longer, but 
came upstairs. 

One day last spring the children all 
ran down to meet mamma on the dock 
and gave her such an enthusiastic greet- 
ing, — Bessie clasping her arms about her 
neck and shouting for very gladness, that 
a friend who witnessed it, asked, "How 
long has mamma been away?" He was 



DISPOSITION'. 109 



amused when told she had been absent 
only a few hours ! 

Several times a day she would steal 
gently into my study — often from the 
midst of their plays — and coming close 
to my desk would ask softly, 
"Papa, are you very busy?" 
" Not very, Bessie. What is it ? " 
"Oh I am hungry for a little loving, 
papa. That's all." 

The mutual hunger was feasted for the 
moment and parent and child both felt 
better for it. If she hieiv papa to be 
very busy or to be unhappy about any 
thing, she would slip up and imprint a 
kiss on his hand, then run off, or per- 
haps ask, "Papa, can I do any thing to 
help you ? " Dear child, she was never 
more happy than when looking up a 



HO LITTLE BESSIE. 



passage of Scripture for me or finding 
some item of information in the Ency- 
clopedia, date, or dictionary definition, at 
all of which she was very expert and 
very useful. Some of the most appropri- 
ate hymns, and some of the most beautiful 
illustrations for my sermons were selected 
by Bessie after she was given the sub- 
ject, and in her reading, when she had 
come across some striking incident, she 
would come to me and say, " Papa, I 

think here would be a nice illustration 

i 
for your sermon to the boys." And it 

never failed to attract attention and deep- 
en impression. As an instance of her 
skill in this respect the following is sub-, 
joined. The sermon was to little chil- 
dren. The text — "My little children, these 
things write I unto you, that ye sin not." 



DISPOSITION. 1 1 1 



— I John ii. 1. 1. The persons addressed 
— "little children," and 2. The reason for 
it — "that ye sin not" — were the simple 
and natural divisions of the text. One 
of the reasons assigned for keeping chil- 
dren from sinning was that a good child 
— even a young child — might be a great 
blessing to the family. In illustration of 
this Bessie furnished the following touch- 
ing little story from " Sayings and Doings 
of Children," a little volume she read 
through several times. 

"Many have been led to the prophets 
of Israel by the sayings of a little child, 
and have become the children of the 
kingdom through their instrumentality. 
There was a beautiful example of this 
in little Charlie, who found his way into 
Auburn Prison to see his father who had 



112 LITTLE BESSIE, 



been confined there for two years. The 
convict was just recovering from an at- 
tempt to take his life. That day the 
prisoner, in bitterness and blindness had 
cursed his God. Charlie gained admit- 
tance to the cell. The father looked up, 
and seeing his boy standing before him, 
clasped him wildly to his arms. 'Char- 
lie! 7 was the only word he could utter. 
'Father, father, is it you?' looking fond- 
ly up to his fathers face. 

"The chaplain and his attendant drew 
back. The passionate hold of the parent 
relaxed, and some words were spoken. 
Charlie forgot the cell and striped ap- 
parel, his blue eyes lit up with joy; he 
had found his father. 

"Finally the husband found voice to 
say, ' How is your mother, Charlie ? does 



DISPOSITION. 113 



she ever say any thing about me?' he 
whispered, clasping the child closer to 
his bosom. 

"'0 she cried so much/ said Charlie. 
4 And she prays every night for you, and 
we all do, though little Fannie can't pray 
much, all that she can say is, God, please 
let my papa come home.' And for the 
moment Charlie seemed to plume himself 
with superior attainments. 

"'We go to meeting every Sabbath 
since mother's joined the Church, and I 
go to Sabbath School,' he continued. 

"For some minutes the father did not 
speak. 'Who came with you, Charlie ?' 
was the question mechanically put. 

"'I came all alone: this morning Un- 
cle James took mother over to his home 
to stay till to-morrow night, and I was to 



114 LITTLE BESSIE. 



go to grandpa's ; but as they didn't expect 
me, I thought I'd come out here, I wanted 
to see you so bad, father/ and Charlie laid 
back his head on the prisoner s shoulder 
and stroked the pale cheek fondly. 

"'You have to wear this coat Sundays?" 
asked Charlie, twisting his fingers in the 
button hole. c How much longer before 
you can come home, father?' asked the 
child timidly with a sigh. 

"'Homer that word thrilled him. It 
vibrated strangely and sweetly through 
his soul: memories were like apples of 
gold. 'Where will you sleep to-night, 
my son?' asked the parent, triumphing 
over the prisoner. 

"The chaplain heard the question, and 
pushing back the door, said: 'I will take 
care of your son, sir, and perhaps he had 



DISPOSITION. 115 



better retire with me now: he must be 
hungry I think.' 

" 4 1 don't know but I ought to go back 
to grandpa's to-night. Uncle James said 
there would be a bright moon,' remarked 
the boy. 

"'How far is it?' asked the chaplain. 

"'Tis fifteen miles, but I ain't afraid 
of any thing,' said Charlie with a reso- 
lute air. The child and parent parted. 

"'Write the good news to my wife,' 
said the prisoner to the chaplain, 'Char- 
lie's visit has proved to me a savor of 
life unto life.' The prison term has since 
expired, and the united family walk to- 
gether in the ordinances of the gospel." 



IX. 

SICKNESS AND DEATH. 

"'Is it thy will? 
My Father, say, must this pet lamb be given? 
Oh ! Thou hast many such, dear Lord, in heaven.' 
And a soft voice said: * Nobly hast thou striven; 
But — peace, be still.' 

"Oh ! how I wept, 
And clasped her to my bosom, with a wild 
And yearning love — my lamb, my pleasant child. 
Her, too, I gave. The little angel smiled, 
And slept." 

/^\N the 29tli of June, our little boy 
Georgie, aged four years, was ta- 
ken down sick with what proved to be 
typhoid fever. On July 7th, his sister 
Sepha, aged nine years, and two days, 
later Bessie, aged eleven years — our old- 
est child — and their nurse, were all put 



SICKNESS AND DEATH. 1 17 



to bed with the same disease. A consul- 
tation of physicians was held, a trained 
nurse was engaged, and skilful prepara- 
tions were made for the long siege of 
sickness, which our doctor told us we 
must go through. Our large airy parlor 
was cleared of much of its furniture. Two 
cot-beds and a crib for the little boy, 
were placed in it; and there, through 
the terrible scorching weather of July, 
our little lambs lay burning up with the 
dreadful fever, Bessie's temperature reach- 
ing as high as one hundred and six de- 
grees. 

The anxiety and agony of those days 
and nights, are known only to Him who 
gave us strength to bear up through it all. 

It is not for the purpose of publishing 
a private sorrow, that this brief sketch 



Il8 LITTLE BESSIE. 



of our dear child's life and last hours 
is written, but to gratify our many kind 
friends, whose loving letters lie piled up 
in my desk awaiting answers. In many 
of them affectionate inquiry is made about 
her life, sickness and death. Will these 
dear friends accept this simple narra- 
tive in lieu of personal replies to let- 
ters that were so full of sympathy and 
comfort to us in the hour of our sorrow ? 
To those who urged the preparation of 
this little volume, saying that the influ- 
ence of such a sweet and blessed life 
should be perpetuated even at the ex- 
pense of personal delicacy, we deeply re- 
gret the imperfections of the work. Our 
unused pen, now held by a trembling 
hand, has not been able to do justice to 
the subject. The picture has been design- 



SICKNESS AND DEATH. 119 



edly racferdrawn fearing lest the oppo- 
site impression might be made. 

Should these pages fall into the hands 
of any one thoughtless enough to reiter- 
ate the irreligious cant so often heard, 
namely: "The old story of the Sunday 
School books, in which all the good chil- 
dren die," we ask him to pause a moment 
and consider the following. 

1. In the case of children, as in that 
of adults, biographies are seldom writ- 
ten of the living, but of the dead. 

2. It is not true that all the good chil- 
dren die, but many of them live long 
lives as God has promised in the Fifth 
Commandment, and in many other pass- 
ages of Scripture. 

3. Good children furnish ninety per 
cent of the grand, good men and women, 



120 LITTLE BESSIE. 



whose hoary heads are crowns of glory, 
because found in the way of righteousness. 

4. The vital statistics of every city in 
Christendom show that of the vicious and 
degraded classes ten children die — and, 
die early, many in infancy — for every 
one that dies in a well regulated Chris- 
tian family. 

Every physician knows that the sowing 
of "wild oats" in youth means sowing 
the seeds of disease and death; or, as it 
is expressed in the book of Job, "His 
bones are full of the sins of his youth, 
which shall lie down with him in the 
dust," 

5. Large numbers of vicious children 
die in their homes and in public institu- 
tions of which no mention is made. Char- 
ity casts the mantle of oblivion over them. 



SICKNESS AND DEATH. 121 



It were worth while to write a volume, 
if for no other purpose than to refute this 
false and pernicious slander against one 
of the most beautiful phases of our hu- 
man nature ; for what is more lovely than 
a Christian child adorned with "the beau- 
ty of the Lord our God ? " 

So thought all who saw dear Bessie 
passing through the fierce heat of July, 
fire in the air and fire in her veins, the 
temperature of the one ninety-six degrees 
and of the other one hundred and six de- 
grees. And yet she could be patient and 
calm, and sweet and loving. Never a mur- 
mur escaped from her lips. Ten days pre- 
vious to her being taken with the fever, 
little Georgie had been ill. She often sat 
by his crib, and by reading and telling 
him stories, and in many gentle and ten- 



122 LITTLE BESSIE. 



der ministries, beguiled him of his pain. 
He suffered greatly in his head, was often 
restless and flighty, did not know what 
to do with himself. Alas! we did not 
know either. Then with a most beseech- 
ing look in his little distressed face he 
would say, " I want my Bessie." She was 
soon by his side. " Your Bessie will take 
her sweet little Georgie and will show 
him these nice pictures and will tell him 
nice stories and love all the pain out of 
her little brother's head." The effect was 
often immediate and magic-like in sooth- 
ing and quieting him, frequently he would 
go to sleep under it. Little Leeta she 
would take down in the grounds and 
care for her like a little mother. Sepha 
was taken down with a high fever on 
the 7th of July, and on the morning of 



SICKNESS AND DEATH. 123 



the 9th I observed Bessie had symp- 
toms of the disease. Her complexion had 
changed its fresh, rosy hue, for that pe- 
culiar ashy, dry color, which shows the 
blood to be poisoned. Her tongue was 
coated, but she said she did not feel sick. 
So the nurse took her and Baby down to 
the grounds, and there with her ham- 
mock and toys, Bessie amused the little 
one, and spent the forenoon pleasantly till 
one o'clock, when she came up to lunch. 
Alas! it was the last time my precious 
child ever looked upon the trees and 
lawns and water, that surround the home 
where she passed seven happy years of 
her short life. Bessie never expressed 
any precocious or morbid thoughts about 
death. She enjoyed life and loved it, and 
I believe if she ever thought about death 



124 LITTLE BESSIE. 



she felt as her papa did, that it was a 

long way off from her. Hence the fol- 

i 
lowing little incident seems all the more 

remarkable. During the forenoon of this 
day, she took her baby sister by the hand 
and went up to the parsonage, where one 
of the officers resides with his family — his 
wife and two children, a boy and a girl, 
the latter about Bessie's age and a play- 
mate she was very fond of. Bessie in- 
vited her to come down and play with 
her. Susie came and remained with her 
until noon, when Bessie was called to her 
lunch. As she left, Bessie gave her a 
note in a small envelope sealed, and said 
as she bade her good-by, " Susie, don't 
open that until you go home." On open- 
ing the envelope it was found to contain 
a little forget me not, beautifully pressed, 



SICKNESS AND DEATH. 125 



and the following lines in Bessie's hand- 
writing, pencilled most likely as she sat 
under the trees. 

"forget me not. 

"To flourish in my native bower, 
To blossom round my cot, 
I cultivate a little flower, 

They call 'Forget me not.' 
Tho' oceans wide between us roll, 

And distant be our lot, 
And should I never see thee more, 
Dearest, « Forget me not. ' " 

Bessie Smyth. 

When Bessie came in the doctor was 
examining Sepha and Georgie in his daily- 
visit. I called his attention to Bessie. 
My suspicions were confirmed, she had 
the fever and was ordered to bed immedi- 
ately. The children were all very fond of 



126 LITTLE BESSIE. 



the doctor, as they saw him nearly every 
day when he came through the grounds 
to visit the house. He never passed with- 
out a recognition, often a frolic with the 
little ones, and a skirmish of wit with 
Bessie. So the examination and results 
were made as pleasant as possible. 

"Doctor S , I'm not sick," said the 

child. 

"No, not very sick, Bessie, but then 
it's not fair to have you running around 
and the others in bed, so we will just 
keep you in a little while for company to 
them." 

"All right, doctor, be sure you prescribe 
lots of good things for me, so I'll have a 
nice time." 

The afternoon was extremely oppressive, 
and the evening was sultry. The coolest 



SICKNESS AND DEATH, 127 



room in the house was our dining-room. 
Into this room the children were all 
brought about eight p. m. I took care 
of Bessie through the night. The next 
evening the nurse came. A woman of 
clear head, strong nerve, and great self- 
possession. Her presence was strength- 
ening to our nervous, anxious, fearful 
hearts. The children were put on a milk 
diet. Nothing else was allowed them, 
and a sufficient quantity of it must be 
given at intervals, to keep up their phys- 
ical strength. Poor children, their deathly 
sick stomachs refused and they plead, " Oh 
mamma, I can not take it ! " " Oh please 
don't give me milk ! " Darling Bessie 
never once refused. Nine grains of qui- 
nine or the glass of milk was taken all 
the same with such a sweet compliance. 



128 LITTLE BESSIE. 



"Bessie, will you take your medicine 
now ? " 

"Yes, sir." 

" I am sorry you have to take this bit- 
ter quinine, but then I hope it will make 
you well." 

" Oh I don't mind, papa, it's not much, 
don't let it trouble you." 

And so down the nauseating draught 
would go with a heroic determination 
that papa should not see the struggle it 
cost, and some little witty remark to 
sweeten the pill and conceal the pain. 

Bessie was told by her physician that 
it was important to her recovery to save 
her strength by lying perfectly still, and 
refraining from any exertion of mind or 
body. She obeyed to the letter. Until 
within a few days of her death, her mind 



SICKNESS AND DEATH. 129 



was clear and vigorous, and her physical 
strength seemed to be unabated. She saw 
every thing that was going on in the 
room, took an interest in every thing, 
recognized and quietly greeted every vis- 
itor that was allowed to look in upon 
them, thought a great deal about many 
things — as her questions now and then 
showed, but throughout lay calmly sub- 
missive, never speaking unless spoken to. 
She submitted to the doctor's examina- 
tions, answered his questions intelligently, 
humorously replied to any pleasantry, was 
always as patient, polite and sweet, in her 
manners as any child could be — even in 
the happiest circumstances. By the 14th 
of July, Sepha and Georgie were greatly 
prostrated with the fever. It was about 
noon of this day I received a telegram 



130 LITTLE BESSIE. 



of their Aunt Bettie's death. She had 
always been very healthy and 1 did not 
know of her sickness until shocked by 
the sad news. I dared not tell the chil- 
dren, the excitement would have been ex- 
tremely dangerous. Bessie, however, soon 
saw that I was unduly moved about some- 
thing, and as I sat by her bed assuming 
an air of unconcern, she stretched out her 
trembling hand, passed it over my fore- 
head and then pressing my hand to her 
lips she said, " Papa, I love you so much, 
I wish I could lie and look at you all the 
time; don't be troubled about your chil- 
dren. They'll soon be well." If Georgie 
cried for mamma, Bessie would speak to 
him across the room. " Don't cry, little 
Georgie," she would say. "Your Bessie is 
sorry she can't come to you, but mamma 



SICKNESS AND DEATH. 13 1 



will soon be here, wait like a nice lit- 
tle boy till she comes." Though their 
little cot-beds stood side by side in the 
parlor, poor Sepha was so prostrate, Bes- 
sie and she had little conversation, but 
many wistful looks she cast on Sepha's 
couch. 

Dear little baby, only two years and 
eight months old, had no one left now 
to play with her or take much notice 
of her, not even her nurse, for she was 
taken sick the same day Bessie was. 
It was very touching to see the child 
creep on little tip-toe through the room 
lest she might disturb the sick. For 
an hour at a time she would sit by the 
window dressing and undressing her doll, 
the quiet and stillness so oppressive that 
she would often sigh, almost sob as she 



132 LITTLE BESSIE. 



whispered her little baby prattle to her- 
self. The day I received the telegram 
of the aunt's death, my niece came and 
took baby with her to their pleasant 
country home. Baby went to each of 
the little beds and bade their occupants 
" dood-by." Bessie's eyes followed her 
to the door. She never saw her baby 
sister again. Baby became a great pet 
at my brother's and behaved remarka- 
bly well, but for several days after she 
left home she would ask with moistened 
eyes, "Tozen Mattie, will you never take 
me home to Wandell's (Eandell's) Island ? 
"Will I never see Bethie an' Thefa an' 
Goige any more ? " 

Up to the tenth day darling Bessie 
seemed to be fighting the disease suc- 
cessfully. On the morning of this day 



SICKNESS AND DEATH. 133 



she seemed to be unusually weak and 
prostrate though alarming symptoms did 
not appear until the morning of the 
twelfth day, Friday, the 23d of July. 
The previous day rain fell from two to 
eight o'clock p. m. The night was cold 
and chilly. In the morning Bessie was 
quite prostrate, her eyes sunken, dull and 
heavy. Death, it was evident to me, had 
marked her for his prey. A consulta- 
tion of physicians was held and her case 
was said to be yet hopeful. Our phy- 
sician visited her many times that day 
and night and stayed long and worked 
most earnestly and faithfully to save the 
life that was ebbing away. About mid- 
night she had a severe paroxysm of pain 
when 'perforation no doubt took place. 
The doctor came at three o'clock Satur- 



134 LITTLE BESSIE. 



day morning. I begged him to save her 
from suffering, her life I knew he could 
not save. She was given morphine up 
to the limit of safety, hence she had long 
periods of freedom from intense pain, and 
though she lay quiet, she always answered 
any question, recognized most affection- 
ately the friends that called to see her, 
and exchanged loving words with many 
of them. Her grandma came in the even- 
ing — from Aunt Bettie's grave I may say; 
Bessie knew her and conversed with her. 
I could not tell as yet whether the child 
realized that she must soon die and I 
thought in some way I must tell her — 
just how I did not know. In the depth 
of my broken heart I asked God to di- 
rect me. Then I spoke of the love of 
Jesus for little children, how He took 



SICKNESS AND DEATH. 135 



little children in His arms and blessed 
them; and that when leaving Jerusalem 
for the last time, on His way to be cru- 
cified, He said to the tender-hearted moth- 
ers that were weeping for Him, to weep 
for their children. " Bessie," I said, "we 
have a great many dear friends in heaven, 
and when you go there you will meet 
dear mamma that died when you were 
a little child, and your dear little brother 
Sandie, that died when he was a baby; 
and Aunt Bettie" — who had just gone 
there a few days before. 

The child listened calmly and with 
deep interest, taking in every word. Then 
she inquired, "Is Aunt Bett dead?" 

"Yes; she was very sick and died, and 
she had a little baby, and it died too, 
and now lies in its mothers arms in 



136 LITTLE BESSIE. 



the cemetery at our old home in Wil- 
mington; that is, their bodies lie there, 
but Aunt Bettie and baby have gone to 
heaven." 

She remained silent for a few minutes, 
and then said, " Papa, do you think I 
am going there ? " 

"Oh yes, some time you will; you 
know we shall all go there some time, 
we can not tell just how soon. You 
would not be afraid to go to Jesus? 
He loves my little girl." 

She replied, "No," and then inquired, 
"Does Sepha know that Aunt Bett is 
dead?" 

I said, "No, I have not told her yet, 
because she is very sick, but I will tell 
her soon. That is the reason I did not 
tell you, Bessie, I was afraid it might 



SICKNESS AND DEATH. 137 



injure you; but I thought I would tell 
you now." 

She looked into my face with such an 
appreciative, grateful expression, and sim- 
ply said, "Yes, I know, papa." 

In the afternoon I said to her, "Bes- 
sie, to-morrow will be the Sabbath-day." 

She replied, "Will it, papa? I'm afraid 
I won't be able to go to chapel. Have 
you got your sermon all ready ? " 

I felt God was preaching me a most 
solemn sermon and so I replied, "Yes." 

" What is it about, papa ? " 

" 4 Suffer little children to come unto 
Me/ will be the text of to-morrow's ser- 
mon, Bessie," I said. 

"That will be nice, papa; I'd like to 
hear it." 

Precious child, she had her wish ! She 



138 LITTLE BESSIE. 



heard it, and papa had to suffer the little 
child to be torn from his home and his 
heart, but, blessed be God! it was to 
let her go to Jesus. 

Some time after I said to her, " Bessie, 
wouldn't you like to see your little brother 
Georgie? You have not seen him for some 
time." 

She smiled very sweetly and said, " Yes, 
I would." 

I carried him over in ray arms and 
laid him on the bed beside her. Poor 
little emaciated creature, he was glad to 
see his Bessie, and said, "I love my 
Bessie." 

She looked into his eyes — but, oh! 
that look of affection, of tenderness and 
heavenly sweetness, no earthly pen can 
ever describe. 



SICKNESS AND DEATH. 139 



Dr. S was present. He 

never saw any thing on earth, and never 
expect to see till I get within the gates, 
any thing so transcendently beautiful." 

The little brother and sister kissed each 
other. 

"Good-by, my Bessie." 

"Good-by, little George." 

Then she sank down in calm resignation, 
but deeply moved. I carried Georgie from 
the room. It was their final farewell. 

Among the keepsakes found in her desk 
was the first little golden curl that was 
cut from his hair. She had it carefully 
put away in a small jewel case. 

When it was evident that darling Bes- 
sie could not recover, Sepha and Georgie 
were removed to a room on the other side 
of the hall. Sepha's condition was still 



140 LITTLE BESSIE. 



so precarious that it was thought at first 
she must not see Bessie or know of her 
death so near at hand. But I could not 
bear to think that she was never again 
to see Bessie in life, or that Bessie must 1 
pass away without saying farewell to 
Sepha, to whom she had been both 
mother and sister. So I prepared them 
as well as I could for the interview. 

" Bessie," I said, " wouldn't you like to 
have me bring Sepha over to see you for 
a little?" 

She replied with a trembling, "Yes." 

The mutual recognition was deeply af- 
fecting. Neither one could utter a word ; 
but, oh ! those looks and the sad, farewell 
embrace ! Never have I passed through a 
more trying ordeal! 

Bessie's last day on earth was a fitting 



SICKNESS AND DEATH. 14 1 



close of such, a beautiful, heavenly life. 
She came to us in the "rosy month of 
June," the loveliness and fragrance of 
which was the type of her character. 
She left us on the Sabbath, just as the 
sun was calmly sinking low in the west. 
All through the day she was kept under 
the influence of morphine, and so lay 
quiet, most of the time seeming uncon- 
scious; but she was not, for she could 
understand when you spoke to her, and 
at intervals had many gleams of wake- 
fulness when she would open her eyes, 
look around, often smile sweetly her rec- 
ognition of the friends that stood by her 
bed. Twice she asked where Cousin Tom 
was. 

"If he comes when you are asleep, 
Bessie, what shall I tell him for you?" 



142 LITTLE BESSIE. 



"Tell him," she said, "to wait till I 
awake." 

On waking from her next doze He 
was there. She looked up so bright and 
happy when he spoke to her. Once when 
I stepped out of the room for a moment 
she said, "Tell papa — " 

Her strength gave out. Some time after 
her mamma asked her what she wanted to 
tell papa. She replied, "Tell papa — how 
much — " 

"You love him," added mamma. 

She smiled her thanks, and looking so 
loving and sweet said, "Yes." 

At another time her mamma said to 
her, "You have been a precious little 
Bessie to mamma ; " and she replied, 

"You have been a good mamma to 
Bessie." 



SICKNESS AND DEATH. 143 



Although she had now been sixteen 
days burning up with the dreadful fever, 
and had taken large doses of quinine 
and opium, yet never for a single mo- 
ment did her thoughts wander or her 
reason become obscured. As the end ap- 
proached, when we thought her too weak 
to speak, several times she said, "Papa, 
kiss me." 

At six o'clock the final struggle began, 
and for an hour her sufferings were in- 
tense. Her bed was drawn close to a 
window that looked out on the river 
and toward the setting sun, and from 
which she had often admired his golden 
rays thrown across the beautiful land- 
scape at the close of day. As the par- 
oxysm of pain approached she would 
look up into my face so pleadingly for 



144 LITTLE BESSIE. 



help, and those loving eyes spoke as 
articulately as words — " Oh papa, help 
me — hold me — I don't want to leave 
you." I held her hand in mine until 
the nurse felt the little bosom so racked 
with pain and said, "The troubled heart 
has ceased to beat — Bessie is at rest. 
Close her eyes." 

They stood still gazing upon me. Ah ! 
must I close those loving eyes, never 
more look into the pure heart that shone 
through them, never feel their soft, heav- 
enly light fall upon me ! My precious 
little one, that has so often comforted 
me, cheered me, instructed me, been a 
companion to me, gone! The little gold- 
en thread that has been inwoven with 
my joys and sorrows, intwined with the 
tenderest cords of my heart, now snapped ! 



SICKNESS AND DEATH. 145 



What is left — any thing? Yes, God and 
hope and heaven. The hallowed mem- 
ory of a lovely child. She will not come 
back to me, but 1 shall go to her. 

We were writing the last pages of this 
brief memoir when a friend brought to 
my study the following selection from, 
" Yesterday, To-day and Forever," say- 
ing, "This is so applicable to dear Bessie, 
that it only needs the substitution of 
her name for that of Eva." 

"The one who nestled in my breast had seen 
All of earth's year except the winter's snows. 
Spring, summer, autumn, like sweet dreams, had 

smiled 
On her. Eva — or living — was her name; 
A bud of life folded in leaves and love; 
The dewy morning star of summer days; 
The golden lamp of happy fireside hours; 
The little ewe-lamb nestling by our side; 



146 LITTLE BESSIE. 



The dove whose cooing echoed in our hearts; 
The sweetest chord upon our harp of praise; 
The quiet spring, the rivulet of joy; 
The pearl among His gifts who gave us all; 
On whom not we alone, but all who look'd, 
Gazing would breathe the involuntary words, 
'God bless thee, Eva— God be bless' d for thee.' 
Alas, clouds gather' d quickly, and the storm 
Fell without warning on our tender bud, 
Scattering its leaflets; and the star was drench' d 
In tears; the lamp burned dimly; unawares 
The little lamb was faint; the weary dove 
Cower' d its young head beneath its drooping wing, 
The chord was loosen'd on our harp; the fount 
Was troubled, and the rill ran nearly dry; 
And in our souls we heard our Father saying, 
* Will ye return the gift ? ' The voice was low — 
The answer lower still— 'Thy will be done.' 
And now, where we had often pictured her, 
I saw her one of the beatified; 
Eva, our blossom, ours forever now, 
Unfolding in the atmosphere of love; 
The star that set upon our earthly homo 



SICKNESS AND DEATH. 147 



Had risen in glory, and in purer skies 

"Was shining; and the lamp we sorely miss'd, 

Shed its soft radiance in a better home; 

Our lamb was pasturing in heavenly meads; 

Our dove had settled on the trees of life; 

Another chord was ringing with delight, 

Another spring of rapture was unseal' d, 

In Paradise; our treasure was with God; 

The gift in the great Giver's strong right hand; 

And none who look'd on her could choose but say, 

'Eva, sweet angel, God be bless'd for thee.'" 

We gratefully received the thoughtful 
attention, the unwearied assistance, the 
delicate sympathy and kindness of the 
officers of the Institution who, one and 
all tendered their helpful services in the 
hour of our need, believing it came largely 
from the affectionate regard they cher- 
ished for the precious child that was 
gone. 



148 LITTLE BESSIE. 



"The ladies wish to ask the privilege 
of bringing some flowers," said one of 
their committee. 

"Well we would not deny them the 
sad gratification of laying a flower on 
Bessie's grave; only let it be simple and 
inexpensive," we said. 

The delicate apology offered for the 
great wealth and beauty of these floral 
tributes was, "We have only gathered a 
few blossoms from the seeds of kindness 
and happiness which dear Bessie sowed 
amongst us with, which to symbol her 
sweet and fragrant life — so soon to fade, 
like the flowers we here strew upon her 
bier." 

With loving hands and sorrowing hearts 
the casket with its precious jewel was 
borne to its final resting-place on the 



SICKNESS AND DEATH. 149 



banks of the placid Potomac and laid be- 
side the little brother Sandie's, July 28, 
1880. After a few weeks in the country 
the children returned to their home — to 
speak of and weep for the absence of the 
one that was gone! The double desk in 
the nursery where Bessie and Sepha sat to- 
gether has one vacant chair. The books, 
pens, and pencils w jjg|j| fc she used so skil- 
fully, lie there idle,^md Sepha has none 
now to help with getting lessons and 
cheer her on in that inimitable, sisterly 
way that belonged to her who brightens 
it no more with her sunny presence. 
True, the little brother and sister are a 
great comfort to her, but when they go 
to bed she steals out of the lonely room 
and into papa's study, and the kiss and 
silent tear tell the story of a grief which 



150 LITTLE BESSIE. 



neither papa nor child can put into 
words. 

A fitting conclusion to this sketch of 
our precious child is a little poem sadly 
and yet sweetly prophetic of her removal 
from us, which she used to recite when 
only six years old at social gatherings in 
the families of the Institution. Many who 
listened to her with moistened eyes, like 
ourselves trembled lest it might prove to 
be a prophecy. 

" LITTLE BESSIE, 

"AND THE WAT IN WHICH SHE FELL ASLEEP. 

"Hug me closer, closer, Mother, 
Put your arms around me tight; 
I am cold and tired, Mother, 
And I feel so strange to-night ! 



SICKNESS AND DEATH. 151 



Something hurts me here, dear Mother, 
Like a stone upon my breast: 

Oh, I wonder, wonder, Mother, 
Why it is I can not rest. 

"All the day, while you were working, 

As I lay upon my bed, 
I was trying to be patient, 

And to think of what you said, — 
How the kind and blessed Jesus 

Loves His lambs to watch and keep, 
And I wished He'd come and take me 

In His arms, that I might sleep. 

"Just before the lamp was lighted, 

Just before the children came, 
While the room was very quiet, 

I heard some one call my name. 
All at once the window opened: 

In a field were lambs and sheep; 
Some from out a brook were drinking, 

Some were lying fast asleep. 



152 LITTLE BESSIE. 



"But I could not see the Saviour, 

Though I strained my eyes to see; 
And I wondered, if He saw me, 

Would He speak to such as me; 
In a moment I was looking 

On a world so bright and fair, 
Which was full of little children, 

And they seemed so happy there. 

"They were singing, oh how sweetly! 

Sweeter songs I never heard; 
They were singing sweeter, Mother, 

Than our little yellow bird; 
And while I my breath was holding, 

One, so bright, upon me smiled, 
And I knew it must be Jesus, 

When He said, 'Come here, my child. 

■ « Come up here, my little Bessie, 
Come up here and live with Me, 
Where the children never suffer, 
But are happier than you see;' 



SICKNESS AND DEATH. 153 



Then I thought of all you'd told me 
Of that bright and happy land; 

I was going when you called me, 
When you came and kissed my hand. 

"And at first I felt so sorry 

You had called me; I would go, 
Oh to sleep, and never suffer; — 

Mother, don't be crying so ! 
Hug me closer, closer, Mother, 

Put your arms around me tight; 
Oh how much I love you, Mother; 

And I feel so strange to-night! 

"And the mother pressed her closer 
To her overburdened breast; 
On the heart so near to breaking 
Lay the heart so near its rest; 
At the solemn hour of midnight, 
In the darkness calm and deep, 
Lying on her Mother's bosom, 
Little Bessie fell asleep!" 

A. D. F. Randolph. 



APPENDIX. 



There are many homes where the holidays 
are the saddest days of all the year. It is at 
such times the vacant chair is most occupied, 
with our thoughts. " To-morrow is the new 
moon; and thou shalt be missed, because thy 
seat will be empty " — said the devoted Jona- 
than to his beloved friend David, who was to 
be absent on the festive occasion. Then it is 
we miss the bright face and merry laugh of 
the child that used to heighten the joy of such 
occasions by the enthusiastic delight she felt 
in them. The first holiday in the family, after 
the circle has been broken by death, is always 
a trying day. So we felt the last Christmas 
Eve. The children were all assembled, as 



APPENDIX. 155 

usual, in the nursery, big with expectation 
at the wonderful secrets now to be revealed. 
Dear children, they must not know the sad- 
ness we feel — sorrow will come soon enough 
to their hopeful, happy hearts. The Santa 
Claus closet is opened, and many curious toys 
and beautiful books are found, duly labelled 
for their respective recipients. The frolic and 
fun are kept up as the presents are handed 
around. When all are so occupied with their 
Christmas gifts that we can withdraw without 
notice, we step aside — those who have gone 
through the experience will understand why 
— as we entered the study there stood a large 
and beautiful picture of our precious Bessie 
with the following card. "Kev. Gr. H. Smyth, 
with kind regards of officers and teachers/' 
Nothing could have been more appreciated, 
or delicately presented. Alone we communed 
with the sweet presence. "Fathful remem- 
brancer of one so dear." 

"When we had regained sufficient composure 
it was acknowledged in the following note. 



156 LITTLE BESSIE. 



TO THE OFEICEKS AND TEACHEBS 

OF THE HOUSE OF EEFUGE, EANDELl/S ISLAND, N. Y. CITY, 

December 25th, 1880. 

My esteemed Friends and Associates, — I 
have scarcely yet recovered sufficiently from 
the surprise of yesterday afternoon, to ex- 
press to you in fitting terms, my grateful 
sense of your thoughtfulness and kindness 
in presenting me with such a beautiful por- 
trait of my precious child. 

Indeed, no words of mine can convey to 
you any thing but the faintest idea of my 
appreciation of the delicacy, the care and 
kindness you have shown in this renewed 
and most unexpected expression of your 
sympathy and friendship, especially at a 
time when it is to me as the very dew of 
heaven. 

The gift is doubly dear to me because of the 
little one it represents, and because I can as- 
sociate your tender regard with her who was 
so dear to me on earth, and is now so pre- 
cious to me in heaven — my little Bessie whom 



APPENDIX, 157 

you all loved, and whose sweet memory you 
are pleased to cherish with me. 

If — as I believe, and think the Scriptures 
teach — the saints in heaven know of the good 
that is done on earth, the angels will perceive 
a renewed joy in the face now pictured before 
me, when dear Bessie is made cognisant of 
your kindness to her papa. 

God bless you all, my good friends, and 
ever preserve to us the sweet and hallowed 
friendships of earth until they merge into the 
eternal felicities of heaven. 

Most gratefully and affectionately I remain 
your friend and fellow-servant in Christ, 

Geo. H. Smyth. 



530 Broadway, New York, 
October, 1880. 



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